A Sense of Yearning

Today, it is someone else. Through the thick curtain Timothy watches His mother, building his future. The man should slow down, he thinks Maybe a little less rough, like the night, But he goes on; And Timothy looks away. He should act asleep, he knows But the silhouettes dance like demons Over the young eyes full of questions. The lantern flickers its flame, but Fails to hide the dark. Timothy picks up a crayon, and thinks How to colour the demon on his sheet; 'Will I put a smile?' he thinks, and then Comes another muffled scream from behind The curtains; Yes, a smile is needed, he decides. The sheet is soiled, but he does not mind. The man moans, sighs, and stands up While Timothy wonders What this final sigh is about; The man walks out; Yes, a smile is needed. Timothy draws a broad one on the face Of his demon, and looks at his sheet 'Shouldn't there be many heads?' he thinks When his mother comes and sits by his side; Her lips bleeding,