Invincible Boy

Your dream as a parent
 
is to create.
 
Your little ones
 
rise up... grow
 
and stretch, stepping
 
on the old carpet;
 
"Look, ma, no hands."
 
Scaling mountainous stairs,
 
creating beautiful art.
 
They bloom
 
and grow.
 
They grow to be so strong,
 
they seem Invincible.
 
You watch
 
your Invincible boy grow up so fast,
 
and before you know it
 
they're leaving you... for school.
 
Sitting on the fuzzy
 
blue carpet.
 
Smiling.
 
His eyes light up as he connects
 
and makes friends
 
and listens
 
absorbing his teacher's words like a sponge.
 
Someone else is in charge.
 
Elementary, Middle, High...
 
They grow taller,
 
older.
 
Suddenly, they stay standing.
 
Those hands that once grasped yours
 
now shake the hands of their
 
new teacher, Mr. Sam.
 
Those hands that once grasped yours
 
now grip the instrument of an effortless kill.
 
Someone else is in charge.
 
Marching alongside the mountainous steel tanks
 
firing only a few yards away
 
from those precious ears...
 
Crying is heard back home.
 
They belong to death, now.
 
They stand for meaningless killing,
 
and why?
 
Only a simple misunderstanding,
 
but it has murdered
 
your Invincible Boy.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741