Without

By Peter, 17, Stevenage, Hertfordshire, UK

I am a flower without the sun,
The night without the moon,
I am the lion that cannot run,
The asylum without the loon.
And slowly withering to die,
The dawn that is never nigh,
The kings that cannot spy,
The madness that never lies.

I am a cripple without his stick,
Fire without the ice,
I am the candle without it's wick,
I am the vermin without the lice.
Slowly I stumble down,
Till my blazing heart does drown,
I am a burning effigy; clown,
I am the rat king without his gown.

I am a joker without his card,
The mountain without it's rock,
I am the rebel without a placard,
The door where you cannot knock.
I slowly I burn into dust,
I crumble and fall because I must,
The warlord without bloodlust,
And as the gate rust.

I am a boy without a heart,
A person without their love,
I am an artist without art,
A peace without the dove.
And now my life does break,
Lost in the drowning lake,
My art is never fake,
And now calm does never wake.

Heartbroken in this chair,
I wonder if life is fair,
Can I go on and bear,
Or fade and die right here.
(March 2009)

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