That Sad Lad

September 12, 2010
By Rochel Samuels BRONZE, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Rochel Samuels BRONZE, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

In the darkest of recesses, often
called night, scurries a boy in his tweens, anguished with fright. A puddle is
bred through beads of fears' sweat, his mind on a scurry, heart packaging fret.
His eyes dart in a convulsive fashion; in each midst of his pupils, lie facades
of deep passion. Fingers waddling in fright, failed attempt at a stillness,
throat victim of gulping, the extent parallel to illness. The beat of his heart;
could blend thumps in a rock band; tongues saliva in a bamboozle, of oozing as
quick sand. His teeth in a clench-hold; tense as they come; the violin of his life
is on its very last strum. His vision made musty; lips pigmented frosty white;
quiver and shiver; a deep-set frown his plight. Plowing to its speedy plunge;
is his hopes, is his dreams; his belief in himself a mere shred at its seams. In
his legs spew a tingle, his blood on a sporadic flow; his emotionality
embryonic; too malnourished to grow. Palpations past the speed limit; and
brazen though it seems; he's used to the smack, that's a 'balm' for his
screams. In a sprinkled about manner; scars decorate his form; each anew evicts
a dread, in his soul a concocted storm. Teeth chatter till brittle; eyebrows
furrow to mint; an age fail of wrinkles; to bequeath permanence of squint.
Horror holds him in its stronghold; for both future and past; for in each
presence of moments, he is doomed imminence to its last. His lips purse with anguish;
for his fate void of pity; if rugs had not been of invention; his bones sight
not've spoke pretty. Gory though it sounds; reflective of reality this is, Derive
the lesson that it’s to be not his burden alone, we will carry ours and his. If
ever u chance upon; a shrunken scared lad, lend a hug, and an ear, a
termination to this fad. Take a moment to wink, show the kid that you care, and
if ever he should be in need, you'll always be there. And if he looks up and
smiles, in a faint sort of way, and he musters the courage, to deem life okay,
then you have been instrumental in his shoulder sagged life, you have modified its
darkness, with your touch you've sliced strife. Now pat his head softly and
whisper in his ear; 'Like I said, when I you need me, I'll always be there.'

The author's comments:
Thousands are victim to the atrocity called abuse every day.
This poem, via sharp graphics, seems to depict something on the realm of unrealistic, but in reality, it is many a child's day-to-day reality.
Awareness may be partiall key for cure. I hope to play a part for awareness in child abuse- this is my dire contribution.

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