devil child

 

 

.

 

When he first heard you deny him his mother’s love

He ran behind a bush and hid in the shadow of a rotten wooden fence.

You were all he had.

You threatened his existence and all he knew.

You threatened all that was.

All that could be, when you called him the worse you could.

"Devil child" was young at only six.

"Devil child" ran far and hid.

"Devil child" your mother doesn’t love you, you’re no longer her pride.

She could be sane if rid of your young and helpless hide.

If only you never happened she would have all she ever worked for.

All she ever dreamed.

But the worlds a funny place like that and what you do is done, for better or worse, matters not.

It’s none the less done.

She loved you once but the hands of time have but one direction.

Forward.

Keep pace, make hast, stay with the second or lose your place.

Fear transforming into nothing but a memory.

For your present will never last.

You would get your fifteen.

But they already came and past.

The hands were hot, hard, and heavy for you.

You were short changed kid I'm sorry but it’s true.

Your golden era has come and gone.

And at its best it was only bronze.

It was meager and a bit to short even for the bad of luck like you.

But try and stay true to yourself, chin up, life still remains.

For now.

You can even stay still in your room, in your hateful home.

The place that lacks nothing but love.           

You can still live here slit your wrist and pen your name in your precious blood.

If you want you can read the terms they are scribed up above.

"Devil child" became "devil man", his voice had changed and all.

Yet he is still the spring from which all his family’s problems flow.

His mother still hates him, she mocks they way he has grown.

“From bad to worse” he often hears her spray.

He knows it to be true, but how far from the tree did he, the apple stray?

It’s because of them he is this way.

They were first to cross the line any way.

They extinguished his burning fire, his passion.

They locked his mind away in a damp and rusty cage.      

They strangled his heart and stopped its beating.

They kicked the kid’s soul and sent it fleeting.

They stabbed his trust from behind and now it’s bleeding.

 

“Devil child” is tired and fatigued.

A rest on the scale of old van winkle is what he truly needs.

That and some solace that peace will come.

And calm will reign.

And the promise that if he is called upon once more by his retch of a name, he can go to battle to reclaim all that was stolen, beaten, bruised, and broken.

He just needs someone to sew his back up, resuscitate his beat less heart, loose his mind and ignite his soul with a passion that of only a hopeful and loving child of six can know.

Author's Note

probably one of the first pieces i ever wrote, 3-4 years old.