Seeker

A Short Tenure

His was a hatred not to be assuaged

A malice formed by mother’s twisted love

His billowed clouds of youth consumed by rage

The conflagration was like searing gloves

 

He blindly wore them; his desired revenge

A youth without restraint will channel hate

How could the boy have any other bent

He struggled fiercely seeking an escape

 

A mother’s love consoles with no revile

A cool and quiet river through a child’s hell

The hand that rears must not defile

Because of pain his anger would not quell

 

The rearing hand will leave its mark deeply

Be gentle for a child is yours briefly