Midlife reflection

There once was a boy of three or four,

His mother was always out the door.

He'd wait by the glass,

Watching time slowly pass,

Hoping she'd stay just a little bit more.

He’d play with his toys on the floor,

But missing her lingered at his core.

Though his smile was bright,

He'd sigh every night,

Wishing she'd return once more.

The years grew wings and flew fast,

And the boy'd forgotten the past.

He spent his days at work,

Under his boss' smirk,

Who knew he was outclassed.

He looked at himself as he shaved,

"There's nowt special in ya, mate,"

He heard his own voice.

"You have really no choice

But grin and conform in this state."

Yet deep in his heart still burned,

A spark from the past, unconcerned.

A boy once ignored,

Now dulled by the world,

But hoping that spark might return.

"If I was a chicken, not a man,

I'd be different from every hen.

My eggs would be there,

But they'd be square,"

He wrote and put down his pen.

His words played hopscotch all day,

And puns were born, to his dismay.

"It's got to stop soon,"

He gazed at the Moon,

But found out that in this, he had no say.

His paintings filled up his space;

From portraits to abstracts and bays.

They eavesdropped from afar

When he played his guitar

And sang songs with breathtaking grace.

His guardian angel took note,

And pulled strings to untie a knot.

Some boxes on wheels,

And fast changing scenes...

There was a big change of plot.

He did not speak to many men,

But thought to make a new plan.

A nameless ache,

And a twist of fate

Found him scrolling the 'gram.

Dozens of faces flicked by,

Until one caught his eye.

One breath, and

He pressed send,

Then there was a blazing fire.

"Bonjour, monsieur," he heard,

From a distant point on Earth.

A puff of cosmic smoke,

And then, Drôle d'époque,

And that's where it got absurd.

Three years have gone by since,

The cosmic script's many scenes

Came like an avalanche.

He now stands by La Manche,

As the lapping waves' echo sings.