The child sits and weeps, <br />How could this be all that matters, <br />Why did this have to hurt so deep, <br />How could this be life? <br /> <br />The child sits with the pain inside, <br />He sits with his heart in his chest, <br />‘How could I have died? ’ <br />Is all he thinks, he forgets the rest. <br /> <br />The child’s eyes closed so tight, <br />His fists clenched so strong <br />He feels the night, <br />He knows everything that happened was wrong. <br /> <br />The child stands and looks into the houses light <br />He stares at not the window, <br />Not at the sight, <br />Yet only for the weeping widow. <br /> <br />The child stands holding the gun, <br />The gun he died holding, <br />As he remembers his father killing him, his only son <br />He remembers his father scolding. <br /> <br />He knows he took a life, <br />Yet he knows his father took his, <br />He remembers not the taking of his father’s life, <br />Only the pain of his father stealing his. <br /> <br />His eyes so dark, <br />His mind so lost, <br />His hand tracing deaths mark, <br />As he remembers it’s cost. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />He remembers the scene, the time, <br />He remembers the look in his father’s face, <br />He remembers doing the crime, <br />He remembers seeing the pain in his father’s face. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />But then his memory stops, <br />And reality takes place, <br />For this is when he dropped, <br /> This is when life left his face. <br /> <br />He walks past, <br />To eternity; to roam <br />Of all his memories this shall be his last <br />For this is the dead boy’s poem.<br /><br />Bethany Maxwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dead-boys-poem/
