That poor child with a hole in his heart,
He has a pocket full of dreams.
Adventurous,
Brave,
Smart,
And cheeky,
Eager for his life to start!
“A Doctor” is what he said that he wanted to be,
And so he could help fellow sick people like he!
Then there is me,
Nearly thirty three,
Thirty years his senior,
A wasted soul,
Unhappy and ungreatful in life.
We both have hole’s iin our Herat’s,
Only his,
Literal,
And mine,
Metaphorical,
Still each scenario could lead to an unpleasant fatality.
He,
To him this whole notion is inconceivable,
Unbelievable,
Unfathomable.
I was once like him,
Determined to heal,
Beg,
Borrow,
And steal,
In order to be alive and feel!
I would give him my life if I could,
He would make the most of it,
I know he weould!
Life to me,
Does not feel as it should,
Full of heartache,
Misery,
Despair,
And negativity,
Running on misery,
No obvious destiny,
Broken and desperately misunderstood.
I want him to have my life,
Some extra time.
To you this may sound strange,
To me it is a fair exchange.
An opportunity to be the best that he can be.
The wires in my head are positioned incorrectly,
If I could give him my time,
My life,
Perhaps that would finally mean peace for me.
I would be his Guardian Angel,
With him day by day,
Guide him from wrong to right.
I would monitor his sleep,
Converse with the Sand Man,
Sucking out the venom that nightmares make,
And replace them with love,
Confidence,
Comfort,
And passion,
Whilst gazing upon him amongst the star light sky at night.

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