The Lost Little Boy

Running through the shadows, before the day yet dawned,

The little boy raced swiftly, lest he again be scorned.

He ran in tattered clothes, without shoes upon his feet

To a hiding place he knew, to sanctuary and sleep.

--

Dirt stained cheeks grew pink, as he laboured now for breath,

Having run so fast to hide, before daylight caused night’s death.

Crouching in his corner, he pulled on a well-worn blanket,

Covering his scar marked face, and trying to forget.

--

But the little boy had dreams, dreams he could not quell,

And soon he reached for hope, in the place where it did dwell.

He smoothed its shiny surface, and smudged it black with coal,

Then slowly he looked down, to see a face still whole.

--

The little boy then smiled, to see a perfect face,

His face now free of pain, a tear escaped its place.

The tear fell slowly down, and dropped onto the mirror,

Cleaning off the smudges, reflecting ever clearer.

--

Tormented he looked on, as all was washed away,

His scared young face appearing, lightening with the day.

Sobs escaped his throat, and he flung away the glass,

Wishing for an unmarked face, for dreams to one day pass.