My pain is but a poem in the sea.
My joy is a lost balloon.

Red balloon floating away.
Little boy eyes up.

My loss is just a stroke of the clock.
Every note means something to me.

My time is a dome of fire.
My tears are the steam of release.

Hang on little child,
To the strings of your loved ones,
For every tug, and joy, and glace away, is a layer of distance between who am and who I want to be.