The Melancholy Of The Young Boy

A young boy, and a pencil,
acquaintances year round.
A young boy, and a pencil,
no longer at bound.
This obedient boy,
ever shy and in void,
is in lost of his writing,
among the rest of the noise.
Most praised as a child,
and now melancholy stays.
His emotions discrete,
longed and dismayed.
He ages with ease,
his writing deceased.
Still in void of his pencil,
his emotions at lease.
Now being a man,
a man internally lost.
He attempts contentment,
now buried in frost.
With two loves dead,
and depression arise,
the man takes action,
and rapidly dies.
With no one who loved him,
no one in mourn.
In a memory past,
the man is reborn.
A young boy, and a pencil,
acquaintances year round.
A young boy, and a pencil,
Lost, but now found.