The boy was silent, thinking that he blended <br />Into the turbulence of mangled continuity. <br />He stayed silent, not a soul befriended. <br />Diverse emotions raging, so not free <br />To truly understand the kindness of <br />Lashing laughter that became his manner <br />Of hiding behind self-inflicted fences. <br /> <br />His weary eyes belied innocence pretended. <br />Young in age, old in scorned indifference. <br />Despite the hairless body, childhood ended. <br />For he was well aware of how to be tense <br />In sterilized situations of lengthening despair. <br />The internal bleeding was ever flowing <br />In his gathered depths of wasted anger. <br /> <br />Voices that should have been of comfort <br />Were instead knives piercing his heart. <br />In perfection they circled him like a shirt <br />Of mangled wolves ever ready to start <br />The game of destruction of his perceptions. <br />Ah, they would not let the boy surmise <br />The potential merit of his future daze. <br /> <br />Such propped up limbs of uncertainty <br />Had become his manner of survival. <br />In glances of fear, his trembling trees <br />Shook with passions of hateful denial. <br />And though he hoped for love of self, <br />He was in truth, and in manner of life, <br />accustomed to resentment provided. <br /> <br />Small surprise that as he grew older <br />He buried reality in cages of disbelief. <br />Like a pearl, he wrapped himself colder <br />Visions of how he might obtain release. <br />The boy would age in terms of years <br />having learned to submit to disapproval. <br />Such would be the chains he adopted.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/boy-in-cage-of-reality/
