For the Dying Orphan
I let you die for my name
As you reached for my hands
Out of waters of drowning
What a hypocrite this writer is
The Hatred of Solitude
Letting an orphan dream
Then destroy him with knowledge
Of what you have done
He opened up to you
In new ways
But in nostalgic guises
The springwinds whisper blithe yore
But the winterwinds, much stronger
Caress you with the dreams of your funeral sky
“It was you… it was your fault…
Letting the one who was so open to you
Be the laugh… the piece in the game…”
Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012
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