Poetry is words woven and bound - expressing thyself; thought or opinion

Monster

by Guy Little

I don’t give him a name.

A name is human.  He is not Human -
bringing back memory; memory of the other life.
No escape in that life and
it is the same now.

He isn’t my sort
I knew from the start. 
The child inside has been ignored
but correct it was.  The knife he has dug
deep to the face of the child; chipped.

Pity child’s voice was ignored.
As a tear is sniffed; child’s head is turned –
away. 2am quiet it is, and still
no little voice I hear.

Correct from the beginning,
I let child run away far; to be lost.
Not too late for child to be found
I hope, back to a soul’s desperate bosom.

I bite the clock and wonder

when the moon will turn him back.
He has lived through much.
Perhaps it is The Child I need to find first
before...