The Lost Boy

i wonder
about the son.
a good fellow, gentle
and kind. but trapped in
an imaginary world,
thinking always that everything
will be fine.
his life is a small caged
world without change.
out of college eight years
with never a job,
never needing money,
everything has been given
to him.
the love has overflowed.
never having to search
for work, or half trying,
hoping against hope
for lighting to strike.
almost 30 now,
with grey in his hair,
so late to get started.
still tied to the apron strings
of an aged father,
and wounded mother
who has returned to the fold.
they have no courage, no
sense, or will to tell
him to go, to leave the nest
and fly. but they're
a family once more. and he's
smothered to a point
of paralysis.
all his friends have moved
on but he's
still stuck in childhood.
his toys of youth, his
adolescent books and movies,
not far
from hand. looking out
the same windows he did
when a child.
no romance, no girlfriend,
no wife.
nothing
beyond the gate, the winding
road, the paths that surround
the dark wooded house,
the prison
that has become his
own. he's oblivious to his
parents undoing, they're sins
are hidden still. everyone
shakes their head, friends,
the grandparents, but no one
knows what to say or do.
such a waste for someone so smart,
so talented. the days turn
into months,
then years. the seasons
keep coming.
keep coming.
there's no future, no
hope, no destiny
in sight. but when
the mother is asked,
or the father,
the answer is always the same,
everything is fine,
everything is alright.