Remnants
Watching you struggle,
With the demons you hold,
Ignoring the life’s lessons,
And all you’ve been told.
Shuffled and dank,
You appear out of sorts,
Unsteadily perched,
Rocking; back and forth.
Eyes of distain glaring about,
Moans of displeasure,
As if there was doubt.
Selfish, and subtle,
Ingesting such filth,
Silent surrender,
Of body; and will.
Fingernails blackened,
Skin ashen grey,
Unable to determine,
Night time or day.
No hope for the future,
No desire to soar,
Depleted ambition,
Nothing is more.
So sad how it started,
All in good fun,
Unshaven and dirty,
Remnants of,
My son.
Copyright © Stacy Fair | Year Posted 2006
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