The Pink
Taken from his mother.
He had the power to wish
but with a swish
he was stolen by another.
Raised in isolation,
receiving all he needed,
with his life, he proceeded.
Then there came a realization.
The cook who raised him
was wicked and afraid,
for the boy's ignorance, the cook prayed.
From his life, he should trim.
The cook fell dead as suddenly as the boy's want
He fled,
afraid of the man he left dead.
For what he had done, he had no vaunt.
Returning home, he found no one.
Pink carnations littered the tomb
of the one who carried him in the womb.
He was her lonely son.
He did not wish.
He did not run.
He brought his end with a gun.
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