"... the boy, the devil."
With the wind blowing,
sakura leaves
swirling along,
we watch the lonely
boy,
standing beneath the
pink tree,
watching the rays of
sunligt that shine through,
and we all wonder,
"what is he thinking,"
believing that it is
something of great
importance,
for his eyes are closed,
brows creased in
frustration
and his lips set in a
thin line.
I stand there,
knowing that they are
looking,
wishing that they would
look away,
I adapt a look of
indifference,
hoping that it will fend
them off,
wanting to be left alone
with my thoughts,
knowing that they would
never know,
how it is to be like me,
trying to fend of the world
when they believe you are
the devil himself.
sakura leaves
swirling along,
we watch the lonely
boy,
standing beneath the
pink tree,
watching the rays of
sunligt that shine through,
and we all wonder,
"what is he thinking,"
believing that it is
something of great
importance,
for his eyes are closed,
brows creased in
frustration
and his lips set in a
thin line.
I stand there,
knowing that they are
looking,
wishing that they would
look away,
I adapt a look of
indifference,
hoping that it will fend
them off,
wanting to be left alone
with my thoughts,
knowing that they would
never know,
how it is to be like me,
trying to fend of the world
when they believe you are
the devil himself.
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