Prelude to becoming Lost Children

The lost children stare
out of their shoe box as
we blankly watch this
show we call life,
playing one another for
the world to see.

Eating mouthfuls of
joy to keep us conformed
to meaningless standards.

And the solution becomes
the problem for the
As the youth railroads
those trying to make a

The young man knew that he had made a mistake.  The weight of what should have been a simple pocket notebook seemed to have a hidden immense depth that existed in neither space nor time.  Yet he couldn’t leave it behind.  He had risked so much to hold onto it, and now he wanted its knowledge to provide some amount of warmth for his desolate soul.  The young man clutched the small tome and let the words take him back to the dreamscape.

Hey, are you even listening to me? Owen, what’re you doing?  Open your eyes.  You can’t keep doing this, night after night, day after day, on unceasingly into oblivion.

After a moment the young man realized that he, in fact, was Owen.  He blinked a couple of times, allowing his eyes to meander their way back into focus.  His friend Leonard shook his head when he finally was awake and aware enough to acknowledge his presence at Owen’s side.

“I told you that only disaster would come from that thing.  You need to get out from its oppressive grip; it’s cutting you off from all that you love and know.”

Owen’s face was covered with a sardonic sideways grin, but it failed to mask his uneasy confusion. “What are you talking about?”  Leonard shook his head and let out a sad, lonely chuckle.  Inside he felt an unnamed dread vaguely connected to the fate of his dazed friend.

“You were catatonic for almost twelve hours.”

Originally posted 11/19/10