Feral Child
He was a Feral child.
Raised by wolves which made him wild.
Howling at the moon and sleeping in caves.
Watching the towns people digging his grave.
See, they thought he was dead.
He was young when he fled.
Because of his ignorant mother and father.
They had always said he was ungrateful, making him believe he was a bother.
So he cleared his shelve.
At the age of twelve.
And traveled to the top of a cliff.
But he saw some wolves and his things fell as they came to him for a sniff.
Now, the towns people had found his things.
And believed he was an angel who had earned his wings.
So they announced the poor death of the fairly young boy.
Which made his parents jump with joy.
But he was really in the caves.
Sleeping and dreaming of the waves.
And he felt like a bird who could finally fly.
He believed he would soon take off into the sky.
But no, the child remained in his cave.
With the wolves by his side who taught him to obey.
And he lived in peaceful ferality.
No longer awaiting his dreaded fatality
(This isnt very good but Im obsessed with Feral Children soooo)(Thats sounded kinda creepy)
Copyright © Erica Mercado | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment