Maturity. That’s his name.
Clad in tatters but armored in time,
He ripped me from the claws of a death
That had already composed the funeral hymn
He found me torn and dying
In a labor theater giving life
To something I didn’t quite know:
Something that had to replace the void
That one fateful night had left:
Something that could have been revenge.
He took its place and came into my life,
On a night of odds and spades.
He picked me up from the ditches of mortality
And embarked me on a road to everywhere.
He showed me that pain was endless
But that it always moved in pairs with joy.