A Child of Forgiveness

Sometimes I wake up and wonder, Who have I become, I draw the curtains from my eyes, And realise I am numb, I recognise my heart and face, I just fail to see my soul. Bruised in thought and flesh, From an early age I fought, Dreams burnt in drowning ash, My love was never sought, My mind a guarded stash Afraid of deed or thought. Broken, a boy remains a child, My failing life, imitating art, Sleep the summers now mild, As winters dress a dying heart, To write of memories filed, The forgiving boy is still a child.