The Man with the Childhood Eyes

Behind the walled off window sills,

Where sterile lights make blood stand still,

In pillowed castles of memories past,

Father and son should unite at last,

In the sights of the man with the childhood eyes.

 

Though the years had worn away,

And time came to a nameless day,

The world, pristine and free of err,

Was one of frolic and all that was fair,

In the sights of the man with the childhood eyes.

 

Though the walls had crumbled down,

Behind his veil he could not frown,

He and his beautiful baby son,

Again could play and laugh beneath the summer sun,

In the dreams of the man with the childhood eyes.

 

Through false sights, time could not weave their fate,

Nor could he think to see the hate,

Which filled his grown up baby son,

And darkened the world from which he had run,

Into the world of the man with the childhood eyes.

 

Memories tightly he grasped to breast,

And at hiding reality, he did his best,

So he’d never seen the long passed day,

When his little boy would run away,

From the grasp of the man with the childhood eyes.

 

Though the rift tore them far apart,

Man and son would always be same of heart,

And though the son lives in a world of what is and what’s to be,

Through tears, he wishes only to see sweet memory,

Through the sights of the man with the childhood eyes.

Jacob Boyle

Originally appeared in the 2013-2014 edition of Outside In