The Little Boy

Out of a grave dark street

On a stiff and sterile morn

Walked a stringless marionette

With a ghastly ashen form.

I clasped my greatcoat close

For a ripping wind thrashed by

And pencil-thin limbs shuffled

Past a man who couldn’t cry.

Against the wrath of winter

Crying havoc round the lake,

He wore defiant rags like banners

Wildly flapping in his wake.

‘l hope he soon finds shelter’-

Thought I wrapped up so warm

‘gainst the whirling swirling leaves

And a frenzied snowflake swarm.

His face then turned towards me

With lifeless stone grey eyes,

That seemed to have full knowledge

Of my self-supporting lies.

So I pursued him boldly

As he scurried on his way

And threw my coat around him-

A shield to storm’s affray.

Alas! I stumbled forward

And fell into the snow

For the stunted waif I followed

Had gone where I could never go.

Tony36 October 7th, 2016 18:56
Awesome
Alda October 7th, 2016 19:25
So captivating. I love your writing!
Augustus October 7th, 2016 22:18
This is very special!
Whimsical_1 October 8th, 2016 07:05
Beautiful piece. I love the sociatal norms and views you draw attention to in your poem

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