The Lost Boys

The lost boys come with their tales of woe,

they come wearing scuffed up shoes,

grasping their empty pails,

taking their awkward steps,

mouthing their stilted speech,

shuddering off daily fears,

singing their darkness songs.

 

They know the kind who’ll stop and listen.

They know the kind who will try to walk down a road

as if that will make more sense

than standing still.

They recognize the kind

who’ll hold them.

 

So when I see them coming towards me, of course I stop.

Of course, I lean towards them when they bare their teeth, so hungry.

I bend down and unfasten the closed buttons,

unfold the corners, pull out the tattered tin so deep and misshapen,

pushed and hiding down the dark cavity of my chest,

masquerading as stone.

 

This is all I have left

to feed them.

This is all I have left

to give.

 

Take it, I say.

 

And they do, but don’t stay.

Yes, they do, but don’t stay.

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2 Responses to The Lost Boys

  1. I really enjoyed this poem … I love your work, Kayla … Peace ❤ Cindi

  2. Thank you so much! ❤

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