Untitled
By: Ezekiel Gonzales
The three have descended—have risen—have conquered
The eldest; a boy made of stone;
His heart made of glass and a brain of granite
Yet, he could not speak
His mouth was worn down with use
His graceful songs, now, rubble noise
The middle; a child made of plastic;
Their heart made of waste and a brain of mold
Yet, they could not see
Their eyes of freedom were trashed—banished to the ocean where it all goes
Their youthfulness, now, blinded
The youngest; a girl made of flowers;
Her heart made of Asters and a brain of seeds
Yet, she could not hear
Her ears had been ripped from her head
Her listening, now, reduced to stillness
When they banded together, they had become unstoppable—inseparable
Their lives of wandering were now ones of travel
They built their own home
One where they could speak without words,
see without feeling,
hear without noise
When the sun rose to when it set—they held hands and lived
Loving one another was easy;
a band of misfits; outcasts
They knew what each other wanted,
what each other craved and gave
