A single puff of smoke still wavering
in the dark.
He sits among them holding a still
beating heart;
Bodies adorn the once brown floor.
Staining the hair of purest white
He won the fight,
Still wondering if what he did was
right.

He was such a happy child
Quiet, gentle and mild
Born to riches and glory
untold.
His mother was told he’d never
get old.

A dark stain on her past
And she was the last
to know the things that
quietly grow inside her being.

He was not obsessed with things
He hated life itself
He decided to live a life of crime.
Despite his excessive wealth..

The arguments never ceased
But it was his alone to keep.
He had finished school unlike
most kids do.

He wandered the streets
for most of his life
Doing whatever to
keep up the fight.
A late night show of
deception.
Screwing around with darkness’
conception.

It was funny, the laughter,
the cries
Of a boy who was never loved
and never died.
Of hair and eyes of purest white
There was less to say about his
life.

A knock on the door
Bought him closer
He dropped the heart
still beating on the floor.

Lethal injection; hanging by the
neck
They lined up to see what he
survived next.
There was no end to his torturous
life;
The tears that fell from sorry eyes.