Pain

When the sun goes down, and the breeze freshens, when the night fills the sky, I’ll then feel at home, as I’ve none of my own. And I’ll feel as though I belong. When the moon comes up and lights the night and the stars dot the heavens, I stare transfixed in awe of what I see as I silently wish with all my might. To see the sun rise, not in the morning as all else, but in my mind or in my heart, is what can put me to rest. In a corner of my mind, where no-one ever sees, lies a child in fear. Of the terror of the day, and the mysteries of the night. And as I watch that child grow old and alone, I wonder why the light never shines in on him. When the sun brightens the darkest of days and the moon and stars illuminate the night, why must anyone live in the darkness of the mind, which no light can reach? What can block the light, what can break the spell, what can move this one to freedom? Why must the fight never leave the mind, why must the child grow old? Why do the stars never twinkle? Why do the leaves fall off; why does the river taste like tears? Why does the mind ache and hurt? Why does the heart pull up curt: Why does my soul feel pain?