The Blue Picasso Boy
I could have sworn he was blue,
The little boy no one knew,
He was slain by stony profit,
Mortal flesh to fill a pocket.
Some say he spoke in faces,
Living soul’s tiny traces,
Others claim he walked with fire,
To light the path he saw with dire.
The forests heard him from a far,
Leaves would murmur for their star,
Whose lonely orbit lit the sky,
By way of praising those who try.
Birds would gaze and bless their days,
Content to dwell in nature’s maze,
Where up was up and down was down,
Right from wrong had home in town.
Small and light but full of passion,
Holy creatures of earthly fashion,
Their mystic hearts bled for life,
Hoping to heal human strife.
Picasso’s boy saw it coming,
Months before he heard the drumming,
Of beating silence greed would come,
By those whose lie one can not sum.
The will of love asks some to kneel,
To offer hope for them that feel,
A tree must fall when darkness breathes,
To fill the void with light’s soft breeze.
In the woods a shadow prayed,
For those who live unafraid,
That better days will come again,
Again, again, and once again
I could have sworn he was blue,
The little boy no one knew,
He was slain by stony profit,
Mortal flesh to fill a pocket.
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