Test of a Child

When I was ten I had piggy bank and I brought it to the yard

Into the fenced in corner and I broke it into shards

I stacked up all the pieces with my grubby little hands

Pressed one deep into my flesh and tried to comprehend

The feelings I was feeling, or rather lack thereof

Knowing only emptiness and a fragile thoughtful hum

that I should be feeling something, what, I do not know

Fearfulness or guilt or sorrow, just a note

And yet all that was dawning was the truth I held within

That I wasn’t feeling anything despite the fact I’d sinned

It might become a problem but really who could say

I threw away the evidence and went about my day