Mark Brophy

Home » Poetry » The Boy in the Picture

The Boy in the Picture


Stealthy, silent, I creep
into your room. I can hear you
breathing soft, in and out.
I know, but don’t know. I must see.

Careful not to wake you,
In the darkness I move closer.
You lie face down, peaceful,
calm as you never are awake.

He looks so like you now.
His limbs are still, his voice silent,
but waves were his pillow.
Never to laugh, nor shall he wake.

Breathe my son, breathe and live!
Rise on the strand of your new day,
leave behind night’s tides.
Pick up your childish things and play.

I hear the grating roar
of those who would let children drown
while watching theirs sleep, and
thank the chance that had you born here.


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