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A birth as a symbol of hope in a wild world. |
I see the boy there, Yes, the one with bright Eyes staring at the white Light above. He has just Been born, barely a few minutes Ushered into our world. Welcome to our world. He screams presently and flails His arms about recklessly. They wave and claw endlessly At the air around him. What Invisible foe torments him so? Hush, baby, don’t cry. I tell him I will protect him, Fight the monsters for him, Lay waste to their carcasses, Never will they bring him harm. But I know I am lying. One day my spear arm Will grow slaggard, my shield Will crack and splinter before Our world’s searing flames. What is a boy to do out in this world? Our hopeless world? His cries pierce the firmament, Harkening back to a time long gone. There was only darkness then, But at least we could not see The horrors that lay beyond our reach. Defending, I have grown weary still. My eyes yet droop and cheeks sag. One day, this boy will have to fend For himself in this wild world of ours. Yet it is so that from the torturous, Volcanic ashes of our lives blossom The most brilliant blooms. The boy. He stirs, turns to me, eyes wide, eyes Watery with silent affection. He struggles Not now. Quietly he huddles into a ball, Safe now. Yes, safe from the world. From the void my death leaves, he shall Thrive anew, born from ashes, molded From its still burning embers. We Are not lost. The world is not lost. We fight on in our world with the birth Of this boy. My boy. Our boy. |