Rough Justice

 

 

            Poetry,

Was not his forte!

But it was something he was compelled to do,

And living was not his want

For the punishment was unwarranted,

And all the while he found himself

In need of explanations,

And his heart was sat in puzzlement,

At every deed they’d said.

 

He was labelled so many expletives of negative,

Even ever since he was a child,

And all he needed was acceptance,

To be given chance to play,

But he found himself amongst a people

That delighted at his pain of rejection,

And he couldn’t understand,

Just couldn’t understand their hate.

 

            He tried so hard to fit in

Until, until, his valid tales took on elaborate –

Trying to gain a little of respect,

And they in turn found more credence to harass,

Taking him upon the depths of depression,

And the loneliness of his experience;

Made him the man he tried to kill.

 

Razors, paracetamol, even ropes were

                                                All thwarted,

And all around – deceitful

Became the badgering of his life,

And the killing of his own belief in God

Became the torture of his time,

And every way he fought back -

The tirade of abuse;

The protagonists grew in numbers,

With clever ways designed to make fool

Of him from distance,

And now he quakes upon dishevelment,

Where he knows that people,

Never wanted to give him any love.

 

There is nowhere now left for him to go,

He has no belief upon their ways,

And he tends his son,

Cradling him in arms where blades

Have made the scars upon his wrists,

And he feels fondly for his wife

But wants still an end upon his life,

And the character and personality

Of a man whose honesty was nothing

More than fooled;

Sits inside himself a death,

Knowing all along,

The grief on innocence accused.

 

 

Michael J Waite 5^th July 2010.