Dennis Jurgen

Upon blankets of grassy fields and dancing flowers,

lies a land of crystal lakes, where a beauty is born.

The smooth touch of the infant's hand was as soft

as the silky trim bordering his powder blue blanket.

Mother’s captivation of the child appeared to quickly diminish.

The odds were never in his favor.

They let her once, should not have let her again.

Despite the innocence lingering in the room,

an eerie sensation begins to pervade the air.

The boy’s inadequacy enrages Mother,

leaving her unsatisfied.

“ You will never amount to your brother Robert.”

The words that will stick to him like the image of a

loving family he aspires to possess.

But then came the storm of sadistic rages.

Followed by the twisted torments too treacherous to bear.

I, the favored child, knew not of these depravities.

These were all things evil, all things from hell.

Attempts to conceal his scars rapidly fell.

The facades masked the shame he brought to his family.

Suddenly, Mother strikes.

Thud, thud, crash.

The sound his defenseless body made as it tumbled down the stairs.

The powder blue blanket cascades from his hand,

landing on the ground, anticipating to never be picked up again.

At the bottom awaited the gateway to the kingdom of eternal life.

“Help”, he wailed.

The cry never quite heard, and never spoken again.

 

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world

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