Here he sits with nothing left to know
Nothing left to hold on to
But holding fast he steps on through
Tomorrow is yet to show
Him as he truly is and is to be,
Who he might someday recover
From underneath the wreckage of another
Lonely slumber party.
If I gave him the chance to make a name
For someone other than himself,
Would he find it a worthy game?
Or just place it on the top shelf,
With all the other long forgotten memories?
All the other treasures he long ago ceased to believe?