Under the Lights
Bruises under the fading yellow light,
becoming a frightful sight,
a boy lingers under that window shade,
convincing me that he was afraid.
Who is that boy under the night lights,
in a world empty of colors, empty of white.
Is he, the strong or the weak,
or someone who is afraid to speak,
or someone who seeks
a way out of this bleak,
gray world full of traps,
only to receive slaps
on his cheeks,
for hoping too much,
for hoping, for a warm touch,
and his eyes start to leak.
Tears falling under lamp lights,
under the night light,
under the moonlight,
as it always has for everyone hurt
in this unforgiving world
of illusions, filth, and dirt,
as it always will,
glistening under the lights
because of all the blights
in this cruel, unfair society,
trying to suppress variety,
trying to reshape hills,
trying to supress our flights,
and take away our rights,
and they will never stop,
till death do us apart.
And we wonder
about another’s troubles,
so much that it shatters
their youthful, innocent bubbles,
and make them leave their battered
homes for a silent place
in this world of filth and grace,
covered in a veil of thin lace,
leaving without a trace,
continuing this cycle, once again,
that’s the nature of men.
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