BOY BOY

Almost binned this until it met my poem I realised the struggle was on
Almost binned this until it met my poem I realised the struggle was on

Boy Boy

The child creeps gingerly from sealed box enclosure,

Ready to be found and beaten like he never was,

But should have been,

Red raw to the suspicion of make believe

His teenage brother absent and fatalist incumbent.

 

Spreads his muscle in later years,

Taking charge of the moment

Calling the boy to check,

Then later to arms.

 

To dangle drunken misery on,

A cloud burst in the heart of things

Precious little reckoned with

Pop with needle a thin blue vein

Draw black red blood as oxygen enables

Pump in comfort and doze into dream

Keep up the cushion against the pain

 

A clattered smashed melancholic

A breast bone snapped and gouged incision

Crooked harm placed in harboured demeanour

Hope thoughts trashed and slated

Play forgotten, loneliness expected

 

Thoughts smart in dull aching agony

Maligned from dot in answer to a reason

Unable to articulate a crying appeal

Lost on the cracked rocks, pierced bubble burst and in trouble

 

Sparse understanding beginning to surface

In fortunes appetite a light at last

Take the boy boy by the hand

Embrace a fresh transform the past

 

Now the time is present

To vent out loud

A song of beauty

A life of joyful plenty

Start up again and fly young man

 

October 1st

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