A child crept out of the dark one day,
With booming words and feeble body,
And he believed the good became him,
And he believed it made him human,
And something perfect would come in time.

A curiousity grew within him,
Breathing the color back into life.
From black and white to golden sun,
The red and yellow passed on through him,
And he believed it made him human.

The bitter harvest of young delusion
That beckoned him to give up the light,
Gave way to blindness and weak impressions;
It all became him,
And it consumed him.

He took the shadow upon his shoulder,
And let the tales tell themselves again.
He took upon a new vision of solace,
And all at once night became him, as well.

From down below to above what is holy,
The curiosity withered and faded.
The boy became what he'd known was in him;
It all became him,
And it consumed him.

He looked above and beyond all his troubles;
He stole a glimpse of himself in the past;
He turned away from the image of weakness,
And knew at once who had dug this path.

And so the spiral kept winding downward;
Divining fortunes and pains the same.
The night and morning converged within him,
And he believed he understood.

The pain of life of had revealed its purpose;
The man was nothing and full of regret.
The child within him had kept him going,
If only just to prove he was human.

And when the walls came down, he'd still be there;
Child and man, apart, yet together.
Becoming human and all-consuming,
Reaching to greatness and all conceivable.

Believing nothing is inconceivable.
It would become him,
And make him human.