Through the darkened haze of thought,
A child still a boy.
Stares through the stained glass of yesturday.
memories come in torrents,
like the tears that stain his cheeks.
A sea of chaotic thoughts and tempest of the soul
Shadowed by the past refusing to let go.
How long has it been?
were you ever there at all?
or is yesturday just a story,
that young ones tell when old?
what about the sunshine,
the glow you brought to life;
was this too just a dream?
and if not a dream then of where?
can I pack the baggage of my soul,
and find my way back?
no, I suppose not,
life is as He wills.
Opening eyes I blink away the thought,
I stare back through that same old stained glass,
shedding one last tear for the boy,
and memory of yesturday.