Stabbing jealously through the clouds,
The weapon you wield is blunt
And the hands with which you wield it are tired,
Still wildly you thrash.
Upward to the sky
You try
To fly.
Prematurely born,
There would be hope
If anyone gave you a chance.
Withering you lay,
Blinking as often as you can,
Nobody notices
For the blind do not see,
And the seeing do not care,
So you are stuck with you,
Born and hopeful,
Left to die,
Hopeless.
It pierces the blankness,
The scribble on the page
That means so much to you,
Does it mean nothing to anybody else?
It stains the white,
Not pure anymore,
Nobody notices,
Too insignificant,
Ignored and again ignored,
Born without love,
Conceived with love,
Expressive of love,
No home.
The cloud is broken,
The rain pours down,
A scar unhealed,
Yet nobody walks away
With even the slightest mention
Of water upon their brow.
Therefore no wet tear will fall
And no torn cloud
Will engulf a single soul,
The helpless babe will never sing
The insignificant tree will wither and die
And the paper of ink
Made from the tree
Will drown
And sink
Until the water runs blue
Down the river
Through the sea
And still nobody would look
Therefore nobody would see
Through open staring eyes
The words born of hope
With which they now wash their hands,
And their blue hands
Will touch a loved ones lips
Whose blue lips like dead mans
Will now talk
But the words they talk
Will still not be
Those, which on their lips do rest
And pass only through lovers kiss
And then to cheating lips
And then to young babes forehead
And from these cheating lips
A life now loved
Would live
If love
Were it not blue
Could smother
But this blue love
Can only cover
And so as soon as into
This world it comes
The too soon babe
Is drowned
In its own
Blue ink.
