- originally written April 16, 2009 -
He stares off into some other place
With eyes too old for his youth age
There is a silent stillness to his grace
With eyes not of green but of sage
Watching him and waiting with sighs
Waiting for his lips to break into grin
Waiting for laughter to touch his eyes
For his solemness should be a sin
Wondering on that which he is thinking
For he seems to live in his thoughts
What is it that keeps his heart sinking?
Where can his peace be sought?
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