I often wonder,"
"Where is the boy I was eight years ago...
What would he think of me now?
What would he say to me?
Oh but I know.
He would grieve, grieve for all the dreams shattered
For all the hope lost, all the losses, the failures, the betrayals
He would grieve at the ashes where there was once burning flames.....
And his heart would break to see the deep ocean of sorrow
In my eyes, the wrinkles of exhaustion on my tear stained face
The dreadful loneliness all around me, the burden of guilt and shame
Heavy on my back, the chains of fear holding me hostage
And the long gone zeal for life.
And he would breakdown mourning, for life didn't go as planned,
It didn't get better.
There's so much damage,
So many broken pieces, so much loss.
And oh he would mourn all the more,
For he doesn't recognise himself any longer,
So many layers, so many identities, he has changed greatly
And no one else is to blame, no one else but him.
And he would ask,
Heaving and trembling with uncontrollable sobs,
With pain and hopelessness in his voice
"Is there anything left, after all this?"
And I'd answer.
"Yes, God."
Billian writes.
