He let life pass him by,
All his dreams, the mighty joy.
Every single aspiration high.
Wasted it all on a young boy.
The boy with all, everything,
Circle of life: Love and hate.
Yet dim was his sense of anything.
Life’s truth: time does not wait.
The moment arrived. The decision.
Then was he, at six over eight.
T’was more a confused vision
Between the paths twisted and straight.
Knowing naught of the world outside
Fell prey he to the path twisted.
Left with no choice now but to hide
Perils of the past haunt. A life wasted.
Years on, thoughts race through his mind.
Why did I please flesh, not heart?
Answers to seek but ne’er to find.
Where does the soul even start?
I can overcome this later, said I,
Naive, raw, fresh as bait.
At 30 now, I wish, I sigh.
Had the boy known, time ne’er shall wait.
The Pen Chants 