This hand, offered in friendship,
yet, rejected at every turn
by a heart that lives in shadow,
and does naught but ‘fret and yearn
for a love that is so far from reach
as long as ignorance reigns among kings,
sheds the darkness o’er his heart
and blankets all his dreams.
The worst, most dangerous notion
in the midst of all of this...
is that a willing victim won’t stand up
and break this mantle made of chains
that bind him in essence to all
that is darkness and veiled -
coiled and scaled he hides in his
own piece of shadow; his recess
of nightmare’s way, perhaps wishing
a different decision it was, that
he made in the past, on that day.
Now sitting alone, with everything he
needs, in material time and material
deeds, he has made a friend of the pretense
that protects the fragility of the child within.
In the din of echoes wild in the
canyons of heart’s soul - he feels old;
and, deep inside, in this place that he hides,
he fools not himself about lost dreams -
for there truly must be a place in this world
where he would be accepted
in his ignorance, among kings.

© 2005, Deborah L. Kelly