Hear ye, hear ye!
Outlaw the squeaky toy
telling me to move on
and chase away the resounding laughter
of the days long gone.
Pray, mock me no longer
for I need not reminders
of what conspired
that 'jolly' December.
I can still see them point
and I can still hear them jeer
- not at the death-defying trapeze artists
and nor at the lion tamer
whom I swore showed no fear-
but at the innocent naivety
of my yesteryears
It's almost funny
how words, like swords,
can leave one so soft
and so brittle;
so exposed
and belittled.
Oh but to hear them laugh
and to hear them sing,
my heart must ache so terribly
for the petty brutality
thrust halfheartedly
into a pair of ears
unable to return
the same sense of chivalry.
Alas, novice grief threatens logic's hold
on the fortress of my thoughts
and, as if possessed by their words,
an urge to vilify and condemn grows
and slithers from my throat.
Yet perhaps in an attempt
to heal my wounded pride;
or to atone for
the Evil need to spite,
I took a Crusader's oath
and, in blind faith,
swore Fealty to the righteous
and the 'good' only to realise
that many a Knight claim
to walk the path of light
whilst wielding weapons
, too frequently, to pillage and to rape
like the creatures of the night.
The April rain falls with my tears
as if also mourning
- not only for the loss of my youth
and for the brave hearts I knew-
but , most sorrowfully,
for the lives I took believing
that I had to always take sides
and to follow the path of the 'right'
rather than to discover, explore and travel;
to forgive, forget and learn
what it truly means to be human.