The Child

Happy little poet so full of love and joy
Thinking this is eternal, that nothing can destroy
The bliss he finds so strong and deep
Not realizing the speed darkness can creep

Clutching the pen and his once embellished heart
He lies on his bed, completely ripped apart
The happiness so deep, it came from his soul
Turns to anger and malice he cannot control

The pen in his hand stings words from his head
Onto the paper that lays on his bed
Running reckless, and again with no remorse
The malevolence of injustice really takes its course

A heart that was pure, with love so true
Is black and shattered as the ships they drew
From the timid pacific, which is now his mind
Fighting off everyone, no matter how hard they tried

Lovely stories that touch heart and emotion
Crumble to the earth with terrible commotion
Causing the people who he so deeply revered
To look down in disgust, as he shed his tears

Depression rising through the tremulous sea
Of emotion that he has come to be
Gave him ideas fueled by loss and desire
And he builds his own funeral pyre

Nobody noticed the poor little kid
Sadness in his eyes, as he hid
The pistol in his coat, a plan intact
Praying nobody would notice and react

For his revenge was set in stone
To pay back to all who were prone
To dislike him, he would have it all
From their high towers they would soon fall

He set forth his master plan, hatred renewed
Few noticed as through the spectators he chewed
Gun blazing with unchallenged rage
Much like a demon set free from his cage

He stops in terror, the onslaught he created
This was something he had not anticipated
Before inside the building, only three bullets chambered
Should he use them now, or save them for later?

Then he saw the one standing, rooted on spot
He quickly took aim and masterfully shot
Two of the bullets at her shocked little head
Before a reaction she toppled over, dead

With satisfaction made clear by a trumpeting scream
Now complete was this little boy's ludicrous dream
His final bullet flew swiftly through his head
He fell to the ground, mortally wounded, not yet dead

With his final painful moments he told
Of his plan and he let the pain unfold
He told of betrayal, lust in his world
All caused by a charming little girl

The crowd grew impatient for the story to end
For they had all lost more than one friend
To this psycho, deranged little child
Who had not been noticed, for quite a while

A final gurgling breath, and he spoke so clear
So loud and powerful the whole crowd quieted to hear
They expected and apology or a reason to suffice
But, he said "Go to Hell", and thus ended his life

He had a small funeral, although nobody came
How could he be forgiven for the mess that he made?
But, he rests in peace, his life and all things come true
As he lounges happily in his deep, dark tomb