in his silent world he sits, and gently rocks away the day,
or sometimes, suddenly, he hits, his stare confused and far away,
each worrying claw and bite and slap seem to be beyond control,
and just as suddenly, he’ll stop, retreating to his safe, dark hole.
his eyes at times hold secret worlds, depths no other mind can plumb,
the children most especially, and so they laugh, and call him dumb,
and when he doesn’t understand, or even really seem to care,
they escalate, as children do, to pushing fists or pulling hair.
he has no tears, no loving glance, he will not look you in the eye,
locked inside his silent world, a world with neither sun or sky,
no rain, or wind, or painted wall, or happy voices raised in play,
he sits inside his tiny world, and softly rocks the day away.