The Boy

The Boy
Talking to no one;
no one that cares.
He talks to himself
for his thoughts are unlike theirs.
Ever since that night,
the one that ended fear,
he has seen differently,
but now no one is near.

He is unafraid
to speak aloud,
for in his mind
he is on a cloud.
The truth is spoken,
yet it remains unheard;
unheard till now,
and it let me fly like a bird.

I sit and talk
to the little boy without fear.
I want to know the truth,
to hear all I can hear.
This little boy is right,
and so many are not.
All of those teachers
need to be taught.

This boy sees it all,
since that faithful night
He was not alone
when he was full of fright.
He is never alone,
and neither am I
for that small boy
has taught me to cry.
Unlike the rest,
surrounded in hate,
this little boy
has found the white gate.
He has showed me
everything that I can see.
The path to truth
has now been trod by me.

What will come of
this small little boy?
His life will soon end,
and it will end with no joy.
He knows of the truth,
but it just brings pain.
No one believes him,
they say he is insane.

So here I will sit,
forever and today,
speaking to myself
as many would say.
But as I sit here,
I am not alone.
For I speak to the boy
about truths unknown.

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