PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Bruise-ridden and eye-punched,

you came back to us.

"Specialists" had administered

a clinical beating

all over.

Some things I can never comprehend:

Hurting a child

as if one were

strangling a doll.

How the cloth-legs dangle

above the tile,

praying to fall.

This was my final memory

of you.

And I wish to see you again,

not black and blue,

but a grown man.

Unable to speak,

yet saying so much.

You're still the reason I cry

when I see the one-armed kid

in aisle five

half-hugging his dad

and smiling high.

Reminder of our shame.

Of the ungrateful,

deaf to the power

in your laughter.