12-08-2010, 11:02 PM
Normally I'd wait a little while longer, but because this is my first personal poem, I'll post it now. Thank you all in advance for your valuable criticism.
There’s a game of hide-and-seek going on.
It’s been fifteen years, and wouldn’t you guess it-
They still haven’t found the child.
He is curled under a mattress
In the empty home of a stranger
Who no longer lives there.
Every night, the stranger visits him
Hovering above the bare bed like a spectre
Telling him not to come out, that it’s not safe yet.
That if he emerges, they’ll drag him into the bushes
And beat him. That there’s nothing secure about discovery
That if he wants to be found, he deserves what comes next.
The stranger is old, with a dark, featureless face
And a body formed entirely of silver smoke.
Sometimes, he asks the child if he remembers.
But the child just lays there-
Like a stem with its petals plucked
Before they could even bloom.
There’s a game of hide-and-seek going on.
It’s been fifteen years, and wouldn’t you guess it-
They still haven’t found the child.
He is curled under a mattress
In the empty home of a stranger
Who no longer lives there.
Every night, the stranger visits him
Hovering above the bare bed like a spectre
Telling him not to come out, that it’s not safe yet.
That if he emerges, they’ll drag him into the bushes
And beat him. That there’s nothing secure about discovery
That if he wants to be found, he deserves what comes next.
The stranger is old, with a dark, featureless face
And a body formed entirely of silver smoke.
Sometimes, he asks the child if he remembers.
But the child just lays there-
Like a stem with its petals plucked
Before they could even bloom.