Sweet stupor envelopes this listless joy
blemishing the hopes of an orphan boy,
embittered by the cold suddenness
of the destruction of his beloved toy.
Drunken by the charms of this dwarf,
in this winter that my light bursts forth,
a fury summer sun unbeknownst-
enshrines the void in which the stars morph.
And so he sang his last song
a tuneless heap of smelly dung,
as he composed his final tongue
he torched his well meant lung.
And as I saw him perish and die
I could not stop but wonder why-
he just did not get up and leave
and spare me from this ill grief.
And yet, here I am, bemused and confused
severely distressed and alarmed,
at this waging battle in my world,
invited to a fight for which I am unarmed.
And I reflect and deeply ponder
at this question of limitless wonder,
why my sweetest victories always taste like my most bitter defeats.
Reward
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