The Boy – Thirty Poems in Thirty Days # 24

I’m doing a month of poetry, one new poem each day for thirty days. Here’s number twenty three of thirty.

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The Boy

He trots along a street slippery with the night’s rain
Grinning from ear to ear with knowledge of what became
Of the unfortunate place he once called home

It began with the quietest of whispers echoed into his ear
With each day he continued to listen the voice became more clear
Its words echoed through to his very bones

Some call it a sickness that infects the heart
Others say it is a demon that sticks to the soul like black tar
Some say if you listen closely you can hear its labored moans

It is indeed none of these things you think
It is something much simpler, but blacker than the darkest ink
It is the rhyme of life’s metronome

Awakened by years of unrelenting sorrow
One night it vowed to take its vengeance in the morrow
What lay within would finally to the surface come

So he trots along happily his deed being done
In the distance behind him flames rise to the horizon



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