Another (older) poetry attempt

there was one a boy
who ran free
a heartful youngster
full of fun and joy
it was a good time
he was young
living a life without
stresses
or hardship
but he never realized
that life was not a gift
when things changed
he was unable to cope
like a slippery rope
hanging from a tree
he kept inching up ever slower
it was a good time
then a bad time
for how does one change
to adapt to an unknown
how can you take gold
add impurities and still
call it pure and bright.
There was one a boy
young and pure like gold
he grew up with new unknowns
and hid it from his own,
now he cries from the loneliness
passions whipped into submission
emotions in a frenzy
sleep is his fantastical lover
for he has grown
lonely, lost, and cold.