Poetry / Baby Boy

The tired infant on his boat made of clay
sailed out in deep purple seas his first day.

The first thing he did was shake the ground,
So his mama put him on a boat to go around.

But poor baby he's still, so hopelessly, yelling.
And the Ocean is drowning in his infinite crying.

Our little infant remorsing the loss of his sweet sanctuary
Trying to find something as soft or as lovely.

He doesn't know anything but the hunger that penetrated him from birth.
But satisfaction for this specific need of his little heart will remain uncured.

So aimlessly and in vein little baby boy sails
and so ambitiously he will search with inevitable fail.

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