My pillow

Many have I tried and failed,

soon have they all backed away,

but the one left is silent and still.

Every night as I lay down,

my head and tears weighing down

there’s just this one to hold it up.

Stream of eyes tell the tale,

wild hiccups turned dumb

cushioning the countenance a world averts.

Doesn't mind my raging punches,

doesn't laugh "I have good sponge",

sharing comfort in its silence.

World moves round and so my head,

the soul itself is a child on a carousel.

The artless shout - "It is soulless"

still I cuddle it close

knowing what it is to me.



[ Maybe two years old. Times of depression is when he was born, speak your mind about him.]