The Boy, His Windows, and They Have Come to Realize

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His eyes were pale,
Bright, full of ignorance
And wonder. Seen from
Behind a veil as if he were
Shielding himself from Horror.
A further glance showed his eyes
Large and full of knowledge,
Nearly fearful of what they've
Witnessed.

Such knowledge in those innocently,
Curious eyes.

His shapely, red lips rarely moved
Not as if they did not know what words
To form, but
It was merely simpler
To keep them pressed together
For the have too much to utter.

He was rather tall,
Preventing him from remaining hidden.
His age was hard to guess,
Too innocent in appearence
To be an experienced man
But too sly and knowledgeable
To be considered a boy

He sits,
Observing, absorbing
His surroundings.
Feeding his eyes
Of wonder,
And left to contemplate the Horror

Brows furrowed,
Scruntinzing all, this man
This enigmatic boy
Sits alone
Noticing all that we neglect
Concentrating on what we
Fear to think of.

He sits alone,
Blank-faced,
Disconnected
Waiting for motionless time
To spring forward.

He sits
Moving forward
While the world sits still.





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