The green hope
of a child of wonder
born under an unlucky star
verges on black
At dawn,
At dawn,
encircled by those who don't care
(so shouldn't be),
in a grey tonality of his circumstances,
he's a helpless
giver of light
In the afternoon,
unable to preserve
the glow of a
summer day,
he bends down
but
swiftly gets up to wipe off
the scars of disappointment
At twilight,
he grows his beautiful shell
to cover the pain
of unbearable formless void
he's afraid he's become
At night,
all tension vanishes
from his innocent
face
His wings're no longer
denied