There was a boy. Rather, a boy who'd be better as a man.
He didn't like being helpless. He didn't like being powerless.
The world was much to bleak; the sky depressing
Gnawing at his soul – he couldn't help them.
It wasn't their fault. Was it his? Could he help?
There was no help. He asked for it every waking moment.
Help would not, he believed could not, come.
Aching in his body, the stomach especially
He could only imagine what horrors she faced!
Bitter, he keeps trying. Forsaken as he must be.
Heedless, the creators themselves turned their backs on him.

A voice, imagined though very real:
“Do not discredit yourself”.
“Young as you may be; a boy as you may be.”
“Know that your life, though perceived tormented.”
“Has been full – fuller than you could imagine”
The voice! What was that?
Coming from above, at his side, in his being, in everything!
“Rest youngling. Your trials have ended.”
The sound of redemption! Rest is so sweet!
He lay down. He finally could rest.
Eternally it may be; or simply a few hours.
There has never been a more peaceful slumber