It’s a weekend again (damn the holidays),
Was not it supposed to be fun?
He thinks,
But happiness is a bird with three wings,
With one of them always broken.

His family is away,
Waiting every month for his electronic messages,
The light in their eyes,
Shines and stays there for a long time,
Enveloping the distance between their skies.

Words. Sounds that had a meaning,
Now are voices over the machine,
Sometimes empty,
Sometimes filled with pride and joy,
Or sometimes plain with misery unseen.

Life is about choices. Good and bad.
Learning never ends,
He knows that and keeps learning all the time,
Pausing for sleep,
Getting back to it next day, amid friends and fiends.

Rocking like a pendulum between solitude and the mob,
He lives his embittered existence,
Waiting for the flight back home, to warmth and love,
Flapping,
His wings of sorrow and sickness into the blue above.

There are moments, like a shooting star,
And he is in one of them,
Waiting,
Patiently and calmly, for the sun of freedom,
To rise from the east that seems so far.

Apocalypse is here,
Bringing the super power down,
He waits for the window of liberty to open,
Which will lead him down paradise road,
Some day, he knows, the window will open again.