I know not his night nor day
Neither his world, hidden within four walls
All I know of him is his voice and the cries
For I am familiar.
They speak of him and of all he has
But I am weak to stand,
Incapable of hearing the thrash
Or seeing the suffering.
Battling himself in a room
A young soldier
For he is slow to gain.
It makes him different
I say, it makes him special
But he won’t accept, Isolating himself,
Making his way all by himself,
In search of a bright day.
For just like the rain
Which turns the dead to green rush
If I could be, I’d heal his pain
And turn the cry to laughter
Keith Armando Gomes