The Boy The Man

I reunite with a glaze in this young boys eyes, blue and wet as if his father had died.

Would he ever know their spirits were always connected, praying for the day their tracks intersected.

On this night, oh so late, to hear your voice, I can always wait.

Fear and pain were fuel for this boy, living in silence, living in the void.

Whispers hum and brush his skin, wondering if they will ever meet again.

Dreams come as I sleep, nightmares present when I wake.

Humble even in trauma, I became a man, without a father.

-CJ