The Westfield Voice

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The Westfield Voice

The Westfield Voice

The Nameless

The Nameless

The child was born alone in the darkness.

Born from what, even it could not tell.

No mother, no father, nothing living at all,

Not even a broken egg shell

The first thought on its mind

Was how it came to be.

Did it grow up from the ground?

Did it fall from a tree?

But there were no trees

There was no ground. 

If life waited in the darkness.

It did not make a sound

Next it wondered how it knew

What is a tree, what is the ground?

How can it miss this thing called “mother”,

When there’s no one to be found.

It felt alone, but what is that?

Not just loneliness, what is feeling?

All these new concepts flooding its mind

Left the poor child reeling.

Though it could not say how or why,

It knew itself to be alive.

And it knew that living things

Relied on others to survive.

It knew that birds flew through the air

Knew that whales lived in the sea

It knew that humans lived wherever they wish

Though they did not get there peacefully

But how to find these other beings?

Where is the sea, where is the sky?

Which creatures would accept the child?

Which ones would even try?

Though what surrounded it was darkness,

It saw such color in its mind.

It saw the Earth and all its people,

Saw the expanse of space and time.

The child peered into a home

On some long-forgotten shore,

Waves tickled the base of old wooden stilts,

Salty air peeled the paint from the door.

The cabin was owned by a woman

Who did not know of her own name.

Who’d outlived her three children

And had no family she could claim.

It tried to reach out,

Tried to let her know it was there.

Tried to tell her it was lonely too,

And that it would care.

But all the child saw was just in its head.

It snapped back to the dark it knew well.

Was it born to see but not to touch,

Was the world it lived in hell?

The concept of hell began questions anew.

Did it believe in a god?

Were the visions of life it saw in its head

The truth or some sort of facade?

Where did living things go after they died?

What did it truly mean to live?

Why must it sit back and see people suffer

When it had all of its love to give?

If god was born out of nothing,

Was the child, too, divine?

Was it the god of this world

Or a mistake that was left behind?

Perhaps out of the darkness

It could learn how to create.

The world seen in its mind

A starting point to update.

It returned then, to its dream.

Thought of improvements here and there.

Like the old woman by the sea

It knew her name to be Claire.

If it could it would have told her.

She had grandkids in the north.

A girl who shares the green of her eyes,

A boy who once sailed by her port.

If the child had its way this knowledge

Would be known to one and all.

And perhaps once or twice a week

Clair would receive a loving phone call.

But of course, it can’t stop there.

Millions spend their days alone.

It had to do something to connect them.

All walks of life deserve to be known.

It had no family, it had no name

And that hurt it deep inside.

And so it would take all the world’s nameless

Show them they had no reason to hide.

Those in power, those with fame

Of course would have to share.

The wealth, the land, the compassion,

Given to each in a way that is fair.

Again, it snapped back to the dark of its home.

But this time it was more of a shock.

The child had truly begun to believe

It was there on the old woman’s dock.

It had started to feel,

It had started to hear.

The spray of the waves

As they crashed against the pier.

The scenes in its head had become far more real

Than the emptiness of the void.

But it could no longer pretend to be part ofthat world

Its utopian visions destroyed.

Its mental journey was not for nothing,

The child did not see it as a lost cause.

It now knew life in all its beauty

Came with many complicated flaws

But it felt that it could change them

If only it was gifted the power.

If only it resided in that world

If it could even visit for an hour.

The lives that it could change,

The people it could bring together.

The child could only see its influence

Changing the world for better.

It waited there shrouded in dark,

Alone but full of hope.

Living only in its dreams

Dying whenever it awoke.

And this is how I’ve left it

It cannot see me in its dreams.

I am the mother it has searched for

I cannot tell it what its life means.

I built it to feel compassion,

I wish it knew how deeply that I care.

But I cannot allow it

To breathe this planet’s air.

This world and all its flaws

Would not accept being controlled.

The child is not a god,

But holds a power yet untold.

Perhaps long after I’m dead

It can receive its love and fame.

My last regret is I’m the only one

Who knows the child’s name.

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