Children play a deadly game of choosing who is boss,
always one that’s left behind, becoming very cross.
Shadows stayed and feasted as the day came to an end,
angry thoughts vibrate the host as pay-back time descends.
Toss and turn in nightmares grasp, playing sucker to the past,
empty tombs the rich and famous, fields of flowers drooping fast.
Manifests a burden of redemption, shown again on close inspection,
within this life of introspection…too communicate a fear.
And as the host awakens everything becomes quiet clear.
Walking quickly past the playground focused on a waking dream,
Sees his friends pick on another, playing boss, there is no team.
Demands and orders fill the air above a rising plea,
children stare and slow there pace as the wind uproots a tree.
All heads turn towards the boss child to see what he would do,
as the wind changed its direction he thought that he would spew.
Help the young, a voice commanded, help the small, the voice rang clear,
They leave the boss to count his losses as the wind draws very near.
Outstretched hand upon a shoulder bended knee upon the ground,
A waking dream remembered of when one was lost and then was found.-written by Robyn Brown