Changeling of a boy,
restless rocking;
White skin,
thin and whining;
A quiet place,
no listening lends;
No school for peace,
they march the child,
too young for war;
Clenching carpals,
a strangers cross,
no soldier can abide;
Risen is the killer;
His beginnings,
a violence of abandonment,
his father must admit.
His father must admit- how rarely that happens. I think you speak of an inner admission, a guilt that is silent. It's almost palpable.
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