A gaze above towards the grandfather clock,
If only time would stand still for the young soul,
It's time for him to be guided to the memory-stained room to flock
Confined into the dark, constrained by the bed-roll.
Towards the haze his eyes would be drawn,
The time would not bend, no matter how hard he'd wish,
The eyes begining to drop, anxiety could not with-hold a yawn,
Suddenly denied, the shadow looming into the room, dreams plucked and fished.
It was normal; it was what every man would do to a boy,
It would feel wrong, but he would not be able to comprehend,
The taint, the sickness behind the lie to the child too young and coy,
He could not understand this normality, too small to fend.
The shadow would skulk out the room a time later, with a kiss goodnight,
The boy would sit there and cry, another hand print on the skin to add to the taint,
Abstraction and delusion would line the cracks into the skin and unto the walls in dim light,
Forced for the shadow's pleasure and deviance, the child could not put up a fight.
YOU ARE READING
Below Zero
PoetryBelow Zero was a small collection of dark poems written when I was younger. Personally, I don't like all of them as they reflect various states of minds and were more personal and amateur at the time of writing. Some of them, such of Nature of Human...
