Wild Child

Saturday, July 29, 2017
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I remember him
Like a sweet Catholic hymn
Like an old kindergarten rhyme
His bloodshot eyes
His mouth a haven to flies
I remember his cries
I remember the lonely soul
The smell... Foul
His eyes of owl

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He looked at me
Standing on his knee
No glee, no glee
"Whose child am I?"
Like cups in a dancing tray
My heart knocked itself away
The voice lacked gaiety...
Yet I wasn't a deity
I deserved no piety

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I saw his tears fall
I saw them all
Like a ferocious rainfall
"I want to be alive!!!"
His mouth was a hive
His brain an archive
He'd seen rivers
He'd been hit by shivers
Yet he'd overwhelmed survivors

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"Why am I a stranger?
Was I born in a manger?
When will I be away from danger?"
Sweet naïve rhyme
"Does anyone have time
The wild took my thyme!"
I let him speak
"Was I born with a beak
See my heart leak!"

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He'd lived in the wild
Yet someone called him child
A rugby field...
Sad sad sad life
Full of strife
Living on the edge of the knife
That evening
I looked in the mirror cursing
Then I saw him smiling!

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