Son, I know you are sick

I know you suffer so

There is no cure

And this you and I know

‘Your spirit is freer than the rest,

Your creative imagination is so ahead of ours’

I explain while you protest,

Your thoughts are not in our powers.

I hate to see you bear

Such an un-just burden

Your mind heavy with unrealistic fears,

I wish I could always be there to wipe your quiet tears.

The world is not kind to an illness like yours,

I am helpless to stop this progression.

I weep a river for you when you finally sleep,

In some cruel ironic way, wishing it were only fatal.