Daniel Griffith was quite a well-mannered young lad,
Who always smiled and never got mad.
While the other neighbor boys went outside and played,
Daniel could be found reading beneath the shade.
Under the dead oak tree is where he would be,
Bemused in his books like a ship out to sea,	
While the other children had fun playing down by the lake,
Daniel found himself reading the works of William Blake.

‘Come join us.” His ‘friends’ would often say.
But Daniel would solemnly shake his head and reply; “Not today”.
Alone he stayed both day and night,
Getting up only in the search of more light,
Possessed by the words written so long ago,
His grip on reality became only so-so.

His parents sometimes began to worry,
But always they’d dismiss their assumptions in a hurry.
“It’s a phase” they’d often reassure themselves,
“He’ll grow out of it, like the other books on his shelves”
But what if young Daniel simply never did?
Could it be something that they had the power to forbid?
Could they ban their son from reading those books?
Sure it would perhaps spare them some of the looks,
However Daniel’s misery would soon ensue,
Oh, dear Lord, was there something that they could do?
Nothing no doubt, just merely wait it out.
Ignore his oddness and try not to shout.

Daniel often dreamt of far off places,
Somewhere he could hide amongst the faces.
“Anywhere but here” He’d repeatedly sigh,
He was constantly sad and forever wondered ‘why’.
Perhaps a spot like in one of Blake’s poems,
Some place that was so far away from his home,
“Eureka!” He shouted rising up from his seat,
He knew the place, but could he take the heat?
To Hell he must go and join the other tormented souls, 
But how, perchance, would he complete these goals?

He spruced himself up in his Sunday best,
If he was to die he wanted to be properly dressed.
He could hear the voices of his heroes from beyond the grave,
Their whispers haunted him, but he knew “I must be brave”. 
With his arms outstretched, he marched to his fate,
Ignoring the voices who said it was ‘too late’.

The moans and the screams were more than he could bear,
From his throat came a wail as he gasped for air.
The years of solitude had made him grow mad,
In death he hoped that he could finally be glad.
Daniel clawed his fingers against the wall of his room,
Eagerly he wanted to be embraced by his doom. 
With one swift movement he reached for the flask,
A sip of this poison would surely shatter this mask.
Soon his heart would abruptly stop,
Lifelessly his limbs would begin to drop,
Death was so close that he had nothing to fear,
Soon he could gather amongst friends without the leers.

Suddenly the darkness was broken by the unlock of his door,
The light from the hall rushed in ‘til he could bear it no more.
There stood his mother with her hands on her hips,
Without another moment sound came from her lips.
“Daniel, what is it with these games you play?
You sit in your room or you read all day.
It isn’t normal for a boy of your age,
Obsessing with words written onto a page,
You are nine years old and you are my boy,
I want you to meet some friends and <i>finally</i> have some joy.
Now get out of those clothes and go outside,
Don’t dare you complain, swallow some of your pride.”

Daniel dropped the flask - that in reality was water,
These were some thoughts that he now had to ponder.
He marched from the darkness he immersed himself in,
Into the hallway where the sun happily shined in,
His eyes burnt with the hasty intake of the light,
He shielded his face to escape something so bitterly bright,
Saddened by the sudden snap into reality, 
He knew he could humor his mom like a mere formality.

Daniel opened the door and outside he went,
As he stepped forward he suddenly felt spent.
“I don’t want to live.” He muttered into the air,
“Why should I be if I cannot stand to bear?
If I can’t be me, then who else should I be?
If only I could make them all see who is me.”

With a sudden jolt of strength Daniel bolted into the street,
Quickly he moved with the scuttle of his feet.
The driver ahead didn’t see the poor boy,
His vehicle struck Daniel like a discarded, old toy.
The crack of his bones and the screech of the tires,
Caused the entire neighborhood to look up from their flyers,
There Daniel lay - all bloody and bruised,
His mother stood in the doorway confused,
She screeched with a pitch that was so ungodly loud,
Soon people gathered around and had formed a crowd,
Around the lifeless body of the young lad,
Was this avoidable if he hadn’t gone mad?
Whose fault laid the blame of this bittersweet tale?
It all lead up to rob the life from one young male.
In the end Daniel had gotten what he craved;
To be buried in a <i>shallow, slow-rotting grave.</i>