Wolf boy.

The gleam of the sun on his tired face
Young boy with too much time on his hands
Raising himself as he was
In the endless vistas; the milked sunlight
Too kind to his tired eyes
Immersing himself in the endless sky
But tethered to a dimming light
A canvas faintly abstract
By weathered convictions
Lost in stories of time
He'd try to free himself
If he wasn't so trapped
In the ideas of glory
The false traditions
The tinged truth of reality
Unleashing a false pretense
Unto his own existence
That confides in him
A burning envy
Unlike that of you or I
May be known as truth
Or scorn
But a trial of ambition
A world, that's meant
To exist
In the minds and hearts
Of everyone he touches
As he keeps to himself
Realizing time and time again
That he's found his reasons
Unfounded, unmotivated
Yet lack for a better effort
In place of a better idea
He's alone in this world
And the faces seems
Blank.