Children kept as captives,
feel the lacking of their keepers.
Backwards martyrs selling time,
from 'neath small innocent sleepers.
With motives clear as ocean fog,
they take their usual fee.
Blending self with other things,
the stages of a spree.
Emergent now a hand is raised,
twice is easier still.
Cycling like a hurricane,
a family fallen ill.
A phoenix child will plot from here,
his mind an overflow.
With singeing wings he will escape,
to lend the world his glow.
Yet, not the norm,
a child like this.
Most will flaunt their grief.
Immersed in self new martyrs bleed,
generations thick as thieves.
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