The boy crouches in his place,
Waiting to be found
Completely without movement
Totally free of sound
He expects his parents to call -
The air should vibrate with his name
They wouldn't stop searching, would they?
That would simply ruin the game.
But it feels as though
He's been waiting for hours;
His hope is wilting
Like the untended flowers
In the garden where he waits,
Waits for Mum and Dad to come
The sun has set, the grass is wet,
His entire body numb.
He's getting sick of waiting -
His hiding spot's too great
If his parents finally find him,
They'll surely be too late
So he searches for the energy
To take himself inside
Though he knows he doesn't have it;
To the grass, his feet are tied.
It's getting awfully cold
He is frozen amongst the violets
That will make a pretty grave
If all stays still and silent
Yet that is what he chooses
For the other option fills him with dread,
Surely it's easier to let yourself die
Than to live on when your parents are dead.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
(not that i'm complaining!)
