My Boy

My boy aren’t you tired
Of resting upon cold rocks?
Please wake up, for your own good,
Before your wisdom
Spontaneously combusts.

When was the last time
That you beheld the rising of a crimson sun?
When was the last time, a nightingale perched
Atop that weathered branch by your window
While you harkened to its elfin song?

Sometimes, you should only stare at the moon
Do it my love ere the break of dawn,
Ere the break of fast
You will become my own,
Naught but reflections on a mirrored wall,
And marvel in the glistening dust
All the little things that make you wonder
Where exactly was it,
That you became lost.

You should dance more
And laugh more
As not to cry again, from this moment hence forth
Because you know that you are dying,
Dying since the day, you were welcomed home.

But who was it that first cried “fire”?
Child, Godspeed when asking your mother,
Even after you find her answer
Less satisfying than that of God.

Pray still, for the sake of yourself.
Do not forget that you are the prayer maker
And, forget me not,
For am I not the one,
Whoso alone prays for you and your sleep?
Now be gone.
Before the heralds of the sky,
Remembering what you have done
Begin to crave your soul.