The Little Boy

(Dressed In Black)

A callous night, in the town that no one wanted, sat a little boy dressed in black.

The little boy dressed in black, bore eyes as chilly as the harvest moon in October, and a grin that seized the chalky faces of the on lookers.

He had a soul, mind you a lacerated one, but agonized firmly to please the town of pure beings.

He never could be accepted, for he was not one of them.

The little boy dressed in black stood quickly, eyes piercing the empathetic passer by's, no one cared for him.

He lost her, he loved her, he did, but did she want him to love her?

Feet pound the cobble stoned road, dresses drag along the dirt, top hats gleam in the bright light of lighted candles, his hands sweet from craving the red substance.

The little boy dressed in black, bore eyes as chilly as the harvest moon in October, and a grin that seized the chalky faces of the on lookers.

Copy Right: Erin Birtwistle 1998