All Feel Forgotten

A sonnet

Photo of William J Spirdione 1972

A little boy hides in his room again.
Hears screaming of insults, slamming the door.
This one’s to blame, angry words of disdain.
Sitting at his desk, then pacing the floor.

A warm afternoon many decades hence,
Sun feels so good, on the brink of winning,
The same questioning boy, from past times whence,
So real, sitting right there, he’s still grinning.

The world of people can’t be left behind,
Observing others, dispassionately.
In nature and science, some truth he’ll find.
Some things people can’t teach adequately.

Some things not forgotten in past’s stillness.
But it may be past time for forgiveness.