A Child's whispers wakens Mom,
And Rises Dad from Sleep,
And they turn to the Child's room and hear the things of kings,
His moods in his playtime,
His imaginative Dreams.
But Mom finds her son Crazy,
And takes him to a Doctor thus,
A Doctor of lies,
Deceit and sugared pies,
Candy coats his every word,
Draining the Mother's Coffer,
As he tears down the Child's Dreams.
And Dad gives his son advice,
Teaches him all his wrongs and Vice,
To recognize those Evil from an early age,
And to face them with his wrath.
But Both are wrong,
And the child lies in Bed at night,
Worried from his parent's whispers,
Arguments and Foul words exchanged,
The Love and Kindness rearranged,
Teaching him he is insane.
Suppressants and Ulcer's,
Headaches and Pain.
Depressants and Sepulture,
A life inane.
All given by the Church of the Pill,
A life lead by Insanity's Will,
As people are fooled,
And fooled again,
Never seeing the Child's Pain.
A year later,
He is confused,
His parent's continue a growing feud,
Till one day,
The Father Snaps,
And rearranges his Mother's Neck.
They Fight and Fight,
And Fight some more,
And rush the children,
Now one more,
Out the door.
"Call for Help,"
His mother yelled,
Fending Off the Feral Father,
Slammed into the table more,
And second later,
Outside the door,
Frozen as the Child watched,
His Father Carried off by the Blueblood's boars.
His Manipulative Mother,
Got on the Phone,
And Called all who thought they could,
Help with this,
This Travesty,
To break up this family,
From Four to three.
Long later,
A plan made up,
The divorce successful,
Family broke up,
The three held on,
After Father's Death,
Only one effected best.
The boy was loved,
The boy did care,
Stricken greatly,
But showed no wear,
Showed no tear,
Torn asunder was his soul,
And invited in,
This Devil Poet More.
The tragedy struck,
Time moved on,
But Hatred Held,
In the boy's heart.
For the longest time,
He held his grudge,
God taken his father,
The big fat Fudge.
But that Sadness kept,
Held on through lies,
Held on through years,
Of books and Life,
And Hid itself,
In the recess of the Soul,
To not come speak,
To hold in thrall,
All the while,
The Child Grew,
His Hatred and Anger,
Grew, Grew, Grew,
Till it could be sustained no more,
And he lashed out at his friends,
And more.
All his friends,
Called him 'Wild Man',
His teacher's called him 'Problem Child',
Insults hurled,
Attached to him,
From Harry Potter,
To 'Hey yo, Fat Kid'.
Eventually he learned,
To be nice isn't enough,
"I've had enough of the fluff,
And they think themselves tough,
Lets give them a run for their money,
Show them what's it like,
When I've had enough."
And so he did,
And he fought and he raged.
He bullied, and broke them,
Taught them his Rage,
Told them to Shut up,
Hurt them so bad,
Taught them to be broken,
Like him so he wouldn't be sad,
Or mad.
But it back-fired,
And though they finally left alone,
The kid was expelled,
And his problems got worse,
Sent to a living hell.
Nothing was appreciated,
Nothing was enough,
Too good was offensive,
To be smart was to be dumb,
To be tough was to be broken,
Insulted and besmirched,
To be righteous was to be naïve,
To be religious was to be dirt.
But long ago,
Did he free his misconceptions,
Everyone could be hurt,
And religion was already a burden,
His righteousness held him down,
And though he longed to be a hero,
He became a Villain,
Who teaches his hero and guides him in his plan.
The Villain who loses,
But is heard in the end,
Satisfied upon his death,
Long as he teaches with his last breath.
After three long years of waiting,
He finally left that place,
Enter into 'High' School,
And to finally start the race.
Little did he know,
That he was wrong,
He was sent to one,
Working for the factory of hell,
And gave him trouble,
Gave him hell,
Guff and Gripe,
And Pain and Tripe,
Burning as he was in the fires of his hatred.
But lets look home,
As the Child Did learn,
Eventually,
To Respect the Teacher Man.
A year had passed since the fateful day,
That Father had passed,
And left to pay,
The Child's Wrath was Great with its lust,
And spread itself in the Child's Mind,
As he hurt all around him,
To teach what Darkness finds.
At first he hit his sister,
When she went too far,
Stole his things,
And lied to him,
Hurt his feeling wide and far,
Told him he'd be useless,
Told him he was dumb,
Told him he should be Dead and Blind,
Not just sensitive to sun,
The boy soon realized,
He couldn't see,
As well as those,
Born to be,
And needed Glasses,
But thought nothing of it,
Never been ridiculed for it.
This continued on,
Child exploding now and then,
But always holding back before he could get a hit in.
Sure he held her Upon the wall,
Hurt her now and then,
But he was never first,
To throw the blow,
And held most of it in,
For to kill,
Was wrong,
Worse than sin,
Murder is wrong even when,
Convicts that would kill on whim,
Held captive for a final blow,
Were killed by needle,
Less and Low.
However the worst had yet to come to pass,
And though he was punished for his causing his pain,
His pain in turn, was never held to be punished,
And every time he rose to rage,
He was put in worse pain,
Than could be imagined,
By the mind he bore,
Dreams all Death and Torture,
Down to execution,
Fallow and Refreshed at every death,
To experience all again and again,
Same in time with her mental whims.
Fast-forward through this,
It only got worse and worse,
As he held his anger better and better,
Until he learned to cut it all,
No more love,
No joy,
No freedom at all,
No life like the other kids,
No vacations,
No friends,
No brief field trips,
So he rose to his hate,
In a sinking hold,
Gave anger, hatred,
And Disgust a call.
And as he rose,
Though some say fell,
Enlightened by his pain,
He No longer gave a care at all.
His Heroics died,
His creativity lost its color,
His writing grew better,
But lost its imagination,
And he turned to hate them all.
His Mother,
His Father,
Hell his Sisters too,
Did I tell you that they grew to two,
And Twice the pain throughout his years,
Short and Long,
With Time's Odd gears,
So much was his emotion,
That it brought with it the rain,
For long and long and long,
'Amen',
Till he learned to love again.
After high school,
And he gained a friend,
Or two,
He discovered fun to be had,
While playing a waiting game,
In a large community,
Who were all fun, creativity and games,
And to think this was all based on a show,
Controversial, And much ago,
As soon as he read the first Madman's Page,
The Diary that seemed to play,
So vividly and prettily too,
He was hooked he said,
I have to do this too.
Over all this time,
Over this time at all,
Far long upon a demon's paw,
He found a Solace,
He found a Clue,
He found how to be happy too,
And though his pain persists today,
Far fewer than before though I say,
He finally found a useful tool,
On how to be happy,
A happy fool.
"In Soviet Mother Russia, Poetry Reads You."
Seriously? I couldn't come up with a better quote for this? Ah, well...If I find something later, I'll just edit it in.
ISA
