suffer the children

i remember a quiet kid

a soft-spoken young man

sitting by the door

as if waiting to escape

to drift like smoke into the atmosphere

disperse unremarked

into the oblivion of years

no one knew him

least of all his mom

he liked it that way

life unfolded

sufficient unto the day

but, o!

sometimes he must have felt
lonely

or is that just

a neurotypical assumption?

maybe the world was grey

like prozac dreams

maybe the ocean’s roar

and maelstrom

filled his waking mind

maybe sleep eluded him

for endless days and nights

rat race wheels of nightmare

loops of disappointment

shunnings

taunts and snubs

where was the edge of the cliff

nobody saw?

lost in mists of preconception

preoccupation boredom

lack of caring

the rocks kicked loose

kicked loose

began to tumble down the Steep

rumbling avalanche

a crashing downpour

unstoppable now

did he wake up that day

just Knowing it was Time?

or were all the weapons loaded

placed lovingly in cases

awaiting their awful destiny

clean bright

and ready to serve

the sense of hand upon cold steel

no questions here

the ritual of preparation

oil and cloth and load

always the same

comforting and holy

like prayer

the sharp scent of striving

for something

unknown

even to himself

such a short journey

from idea to action

no time

for those who had never Seen him

to recognize his fell intent

no time

for the lovingly nurtured butterflies

to fly away home

no time

for the last prayers of innocence

to pass the lips

of those whose breath

would not come forth again

and in the end

no time for him

whose story was never told

a boy whom no one knew

yet all will remember

the name

written in the indelible stains

of infant blood upon the floor

the empty beds unopened presents

unanswered calls

before the memory floods in

of all the uninhabited futures

to come

© 2012 pamela twining