By three knowing souls
Left a vision of what could have been.
A momentary relapse,
Like Lady Macbeth, blinded
Misguided, bitter raged
Baby beaten on her breast.
Innocent youth taken
Shaken by protector.
No milk of human kindness,
To be sweetened, swallowed
Just a poisoned evil that is given at first breath.
An undone death.
The suffocating, intoxicating clouds
That surround our eyes, grip our first steps.
So we stumble through on hesitant legs
That make marks on earth where we care to tread.
Where souls are buried beneath the ground.
Loneliness reaps the mortal sound
Of fingers scratching to be free
Upon a wooden box of expectations,
We all comply,
To be uniformed soldiers, held up martyrs.
Fighting to leave a trace.