Behind Masks, Once There's a Child-
Humming wind in a wider sky,
Turbulent perhaps catastrophic omen.
Thy born a curse of a forlorn life,
conceal nor run tranquil dim will bloom.
Stare those hands, repulsive, fracture
Mirrored of the vulnerable surrender.
Eyes that dehydrated from lengthy groan,
Mystified encountered amid spirit and mind.
Mountainous, could forest perhaps deserted…
It ought to be a dwelling for holy or ideal war?
After an unremitting weapon detonation,
immature remains lay down holding a gun.
Ballet of an erotic refinement…
Blushing powdered faced, vermilion lips
String clad, afterward bare – naked…
Annoying hide of a girl to a woman.
Stones lump for less broader shoulder,
either insignificant foot undefended.
Speculating, bewildered conceivably asking…
Skirmishing manhood yet not developed.
Enfolded through maltreated,
Saunter thru into a nearly end…
Incarcerated by an illusionary masks
Uproar thus cried… Yes, I am a child!
Copyright © michelle farala