Tuesday, June 25, 2013

The Broken Ones ( a poem and bit of light relief from the novel)

The Broken Ones
The child draws
Wall upon wall
Of pictures
Big person pierces
Big person touches
Big person ignores
Its cries and moves over
The body of a child
Stealing it's soul
Owning it
Devouring it
Discarding it
Like some broken toy
It is no longer a treasured thing
No longer  loved
Just shattered fragments
Of play.

When blood finds its child
Wild in its pain, it tries
To heal the precious worlds.

It tries and tries
It weeps and weeps
It cries and cries
But it is no use
For some broken toys
Their pieces run like sand
Between the fingers that try to fix
The fingers that try to knit together
The cloth torn
And some just wait
To be reborn.

Others have clockwork energy
Fueled by fierce fires
Others just give up
And become the walking dead
Frozen over like winter lakes
They grimace through the motions
Of life
Dancers on glaciers of ice
Dead inside
But outside so nice.
There is no hope
There is no way to cope
Except to die

Inside out.
Hope is to be
In another time
Another life.
When you are locked in
A strait jacket of pain
There is little gain.

1 comment:

jackieshoesforfish said...

Very beautiful though sad.