"But the boy, what about the boy?"

Haunted by distant maladies contracted in a blurred whirl
of consciousness, "But the boy, what about the boy?"
A distorted call, the tug of tiny arms, more powerful
than steel, held you back, hold you now.
Strangely paired with one who has run out of chances,
broken the ties between you.
"But the boy, what about the boy?", a hoarse voice whispers
but from where? inside, from above?
Large almond shaped eyes as brown as your own, lost expressions
from so many unanswerable questions.
You love those eyes & the soul they peer from, the soul that asks
in subconscious waves,"But the boy, what about the boy?"
Pleading for just one fair shake, one level chance at life
before being abandoned to face the cruelness of a stone cold world.
How can I tell him there is no such thing,
how do I explain that the world isn't fair?
Or does he already know; too young to know,
but knows none-the-less.
Every childish question posed from milk stained lips
translates in the mind,"I'm alone, I don't want to be alone."
All the questions pound & batter the nerves as a heavy surf's
relentless barrage upon the weakening sea wall, upon your crumbling will.
And as the waves break upon the jetty &
roll over the trackless beach, beneath its breath it hisses,
upon the shore it beats, beats out its song, its air,
its plea,"But the boy, what about the boy?"