Breathless thought so common with thee,

Though end is yet to be seen—-

Within each day and night, only struggle within the fight,

Thee drifts to when the stars were so bright;

Though the empty is so often found,

The grasp of thought strangles just around;

Caught up in one’s self, no thought of those bonded to thee,

The light, a diminishing, far off key.

The dread and void between,

The collapse of psyche, most foreseen.

Each cry is not believed or eased away,

Though the mind falls to an inescapable decay,

The struggle is obvious to all that see—-

There is no escape for the boy cried void who screamed for mercy.