Pre-script:

Six syllables per line, sometimes an extra unstressed syllable is squeezed in without disturbing the metre. The rhyming pattern is A-B-A-A-C-C-B. Unconventional yes, but this sort of adds a sting to the paragraphs' endings, in accordance to the main theme.

Death of a young man.

Troubled sleep, not too deep,

Occupied all his nights.

When awake, it would creep,

Discreetly, then to sweep

Him back to dreams, nightmares.

He would writhe, unawares,

Grotesque thoughts, ugly sights.

Morning sun, he would roam,

Droopy eyes, shuffled gait,

Streets unknown, lead to home.

Shifting thoughts, frothing foam.

Passing time, wasting days,

Working on with an empty gaze,

Pending work, cannot wait.

He is rich, Rolls Royce

Earning money, buying things,

No mistakes, has no choice,

Smart and suave, James Joyce,

Clinching deals, crunching sheets,

Turning cogs, march-past beats,

Empty mind, no Saturn's rings.

As a child, he would play,

He would dream, fairytales.

Making trouble, running away

To places private. Stay

over with friends, young boys,

Treehouses, wooden toys,

Backpacks and hiking trails.

Bruised elbows, marbles won,

Skipping rope, hidden treasure.

Trying to stare at the sun,

Learning to whistle "Your ma' hun".

Lie alone, in the tree house

With magazines that arouse,

The forbidden pleasure.

Then came college, too soon,

Don't do drugs, must do well,

Parents' hopes, money's boon,

Ivy League, no full moon,

Live up to the expectations,

Games and sports, meager rations.

Perfect grades, head did swell.

Then, campus interviews,

Swept him off to Wall Street.

Houses with ocean views,

Trousers, ties, leather shoes.

High society, finest wine

Bosses coming over to dine.

Matte finis, velvet sheet.

Trophy wife, still no say,

Books for Bed - Starter's Guide.

Two point four kids, valet,

Son - tennis, daughter - ballet.

Thus life went on, clockwork,

Never stop, don't think, work.

The child who lived, hath died.