Worth It

A poem.

I am the wind. I rustle

aimlessly through the windows which the boy left open

In his sleep

he's murmuring, like me

He's covered in blankets, not unlike the snow that fell

The night before

He had stayed awake, a flashlight under the blankets that covered him

when a knock came at his folding doors

Which opened to reveal 

The mother

Earth is so big, bright and beautiful

I am the wind.

I am the lamp.

I sit on the stand by the bed that cradles the boy covered in blankets, not unlike

The snow that my light illuminates 

That fell the night before 

I did

when I was knocked over when the boy

Dreamt he was falling

Towards an empty corner, you'll see me,

I am the lamp.

I am the cello.

I sing with the bow he so frequently picks up,

the rosin siphoned off in the light of the lamp, not unlike the frozen dust which now lays

on the ground, from the night before

he screamed in pain from the voices in his tormented 

Head to the light of the lamp, where he'll be safe

I'll stay here, next to the bow he so frequently picked up.

I am the cello.

I am the tears.

I wander down the face of the boy covered in blankets, not unlike 

the snow that fell the night before

He stared into the moon which fell so gently on his 

Face the fears he wanted so keenly to pretend were

Not there, when I, the tears were a welcome release

The pain... the Anger...The Hate! And

I was there, when he had not a soul, or an audience to cheer on his light.

I am the tears.

I am the boy. I'm curled in my bed, covered in blankets, not unlike 

The snow that fell the night before.

I'm falling, now, but if only I'd knew, that things would get better

Than this

is pain!

But it will get better...

I am the boy who told himself, it was all for naught,

But if only I had known, just how good

How winsome, how beautiful

The pain I'm privileged to feel,

Some people can't feel.

Feelings--What are these

Singing sirens my cello creates? I'm not creating,

I'm revealing, the drawing to my friend in the light of 

The lamp which stands on the table in front of that window

The wind aimlessly wanders through.

I am the boy who thought life was pain,

I was right

I am the boy who couldn't see the beauty all around me, and didn't know, all that pain--?

Was worth it