Disconnected

Disconnected

There’s a boy behind glass,

Opposite a man,

They look disinterestedly,

As they continue on pass.

The boy heads on home,

And wakes up next to himself,

From yesterday,

Allowing him to roam.

Soon the house is full,

Of boys from days gone by,

There are so many,

They all become dull.

Days become years,

And a quirk occurs,

There’s fewer boys every day,

The boy is loosing peers.

There’s still someone new,

Every morning in bed,

But those who last a week,

There are few.

The boy grows old,

Reminding himself of the man,

Age reshapes him,

Into someone harsh and bold.

The man he wakes up to,

Barely lasts the day,

He is disconnected,

Unsure what he can do.

One day he sees a boy,

Through a window pane,

He looks so solemn,

So lacking in joy.

“Who will he be”,

The man thinks,

“For his sake and mine,

I hope he isn’t me”.

The man goes pass,

As does the boy,

Disconnected,

On other sides of the glass.