The wind sings him a song,
dancing with fabric of his life,
swaying his torture for viewing
or ignoring, depending
on the wars brewing
in minds of passersby.
Mom constructed homage.
But she cannot pay enough,
to purchase bygone joys
of little child, playing grown up
games that can't be won.
Now both his spirit and her heart rest
cemented, iron clad,
wishing for the never was,
while stagnated eagles watch,
yearning to fly.
(Submitted to Dverse Poets - Meeting the Bar)
Several miles from my house, this monument was constructed in the front yard of a house. I don't know these neighbors, nor the story behind the monument. I have briefly talked to an elderly woman there, which led me to imagine the monument is for her son.