He Wants

He wants to walk the woods and know the names of the trees growing there.
He wants to see them fall.
He wants to walk the streets and know the names of the people living there.
He wants to see them gone.

He wants to hold his head high.
He wants to put his head in his hands.

He wants to sail the oceans, shoot the rapids, climb the mountains.
He wants to count the cracks on the bedroom ceiling.

He wants to reach the boy crouching in fear, striking in anger.
He wants to take the hand of the woman blocking the fist, searching for a vein.
He doesn't want to think about it.

He wants to hold a child in his arms and hear her call him "Dad".
He wants to be in his mother's arms and hear her call him "Son".
He wants to feel the stubble on my face as he runs his finger along my jaw.
He doesn't want to want anybody.

He wants to change the world.
He wants the world to change him.
He wants it all to stay the same.

He wants to see. He wants to do. He wants to be.
He wants to want something.

He wants to understand why. He wants me to tell him.