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To Whom It May Concern
To the boy who took the wrong turn.

Narrow walls of past concerns,
The ropes of tight bends—
Knots, they stretch and breathe.
Too obvious, I lay in bed
With demise’s feet.

Imperfect—a shadow they cloned,
For the nature of man is less.
They kill for less, like dirt they cast offshore—
Ohh, out like the rest!

I prayed for thirst,
But chaos has made its nest.
To see the rest of self,
The lonely, my quest.

Hey, you! Yes, you who claim to know me well—
Where were you when the nights turned red?
To whom lovers dread,
A glare of an empty self,
In fear of a dreamer’s pen.

The distance in the void and self,
I search my soul for less—
For wealth in memories
I couldn't suppress.

Who am I? Yes, I—
That self that needs the yes
To save me from them.
We took a ride of pride,
Me with all my lies.

Like a knight, my fight and spark
Could stand the tide that rises.
That shows the image,
A world that shaped not brave—
A me with no you,
But guarded by the senses of view.

Could I be life’s muse?
I hope—
An image of me to you
Is the you that needed me,
But saw too few.

By P. Fualem

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