THE ORPHAN

The orchestra plays

The choir softly chants

“Benedictus qui venit

Ni nomine venit”

I sit at the edge of my bed

My soft well padded bed

Swaying my mind, nodding

To the choir’s soft chants

Lonely I sit there,

As I have; daily

Since my parents died

I have no friends,

I have no parents

I process the pain inside,

Softly nursing my inner sores

I tell myself jokes

I chuckle at them,

Tell myself how funny I am.

At times I scorn myself,

For  not being able to do it; to overcome it,

To grow up.

Joy, roy, mackoy,

We laugh, we chat, we coil

I walk with them, everywhere

They are omnipresent,

Immortal, invisible,

My little gods

They are all I have.

My parents were stolen

My only friends taken

Now I have no parents,

I have no friends.

Befado