Photo taken when I was in Cambodia. Who is this boy? I'll never know.

Does a boy have a right to dream?
Does he stand tall and firm during times of blight
Our garbled senses from the current of times past
Send piercing knives of reality
Through the canvas of fantasy that was only halfway painted
Pieces falling
Paint still wet
Tears of maroon, indigo, violet
Ripple through the still lit night
As the reflection of his soul glistens away
Yet a second wave hits
Indeed he stands tall
He knows who he is
Facing his destiny
Without fear
With only courage