Literature
Imprisoned by the Dove
A tear to his mother's eyes,
Whispers of her love.
The tortured son, here he lies,
Imprisoned by the dove.
The light of him evades my eyes,
In whispers he may speak,
The worry of his mother ties,
His life to this small peak.
This tiny boy may often fight,
Against the spirit of death,
For his small sometimes invite,
Intruders to his breath.
Although, loving arms do provide,
A warm haven to his eyes,
The evil sickness eats his pride,
And forces toward his demise.
A tear to his mother's eyes,
Whispers of her love.
The tortured son, here he lies,
Imprisoned by the dove.
With time, his eyes grow gray and dull,
The sickness