Wish

The wide eyed school boy
Hides the drawing, as black
Ink drips, in his tainted hands.
He looks up, but no one
Has noticed; quiet in his corner,
He remains king.

As the window draws in
The light, he rocks his chair
Back and forth, to the tempo
Of the grandfather’s clock
Standing guard by the desk.

He follows
The shapes and figures
In the sky, building
His world of make belief.
Such is the longing escape
Yearning to break out.

And so the boy will grow
Too fast or too eager
To put his mark, to lend
His name, to the papers,
The kisses and the grand city lights.

But he will fall,
In sin and in love,
And like the rest of us
He will know sadness
And the best of times
As he rises a man.

Janete Cabral Copyright