For Connor, an uncared boy who chose life.
young boy
you roamed around
midnight train trails,
stones long dead and slaughtered wood
were pavements to a star.
stars also die
in joy
burst out and release,
some are not different
wanting to become dying star.
arms folded around night
you heard bullies and laughter
fluffy white pillows talking,
ducks from a dirty pond
feathers trimmed to sell you sleep.
mild whispers
of a voice swiftly heard
and you lit the pillows,
now cuddled
to a wise inner-companion
your jelly-blue eyes under skin blanket
sleeping in the daybreak train of hope.
I heard you chose
your unhappy mother that night
setting your floating star dream
alight
hoping one day
like the pillows,
dead stones in your mind not you
will die out diminish
in this uncontainable galaxy.
stars also die
but many remain
glistening silver glistening jelly-blue
as though they have always been alive,
finding home
in the skin-soft orbit of life.