Queries abound like strains of poison in my head,
Serve to obscure visions of a future that I dread.
Past nostalgic clouds this fairy tale plays out,
As a warning to skeptics and a hymn to the devout.
What a story I would tell if but I knew the words,
Describing a portrait I would paint for the birds.
The lead in is laden with copious poverty and need,
Enhanced by back story that makes your heart bleed.
From this careful foundation of chaos arises hope,
Delivered at specific points along a gradual slope.
Yet for this underdog for whom we created concern,
The dreams become derelicts while the world turns.
The second act revolves around the newborn child,
Who then animates the dead hope that once ran wild.
An epic tale of growth guided by this learned hand,
Energizes the world as this child makes his stand.
Despite these mediocre origins a covenant is formed,
As the now magnificent man takes the world by storm.
Alas there is no definite conclusion to be relayed,
Though for I, the final act, the path has been laid.
How this existence of mine today pales when stacked,
Against those of my fathers whom contemporaries back.
The tendrils of timidity hold my life in their grip,
Waiting to feast on the tragedy when I finally slip.
Answers abound like cold cleavers severing my spine,
Preserve the details in the opportunities I unwind.
In a bleak and dark future the lingering past haunts,
Teaching those who it can even as it sits and taunts.
This is a story I would forget if I but knew the way,
To wipe the slate clean if even for a single damn day.