cards on the table
waiting

unable to move
thinking

reality dawning
hiding

no-one knowing
ending

Beneath the tree, see…
Innocence.
Youth.
A child.

Watch as wind,
softly blowing –
swings him in its
Gentle breeze.

Back and forth,
beneath the tree –
In summertime…
The Child is free.

When The Child returned
(for his tea) –
all was quiet.

but then
HE came home

and HE sat down

and HE shouted at
The Child.

Crying, the child left,
running to escape the
horrors, of
HIM

Bedroom, refuge, sanctury.
Safety in numbers: the child
hides behind his calculator

but fearing the worst
sudden change, no more pain
the child, terrified,
it was for the best
decides to go to the magic place
have mercy Lord!
to live happily ever after.

And when he gets there
(should such a time exist)…
his Dreams will be fulfilled.

Amended 10 January 2003

Today I planted my child
I buried it alive-
Like Lettuce seeds
In the garden, next to the rosebush.

I think it cried in terrified pain –
The agony of living was too great for it.
Unless of course it was a complaint;
That I’d broken its legs first.

So now I think I’ll have a party-
A celebration of its life.
For it’s a good child-
Especially now it’s buried.

I wonder if I’ll grow another one