No one should know the things I know,
nor bear the scars of such knowledge,
nor should they be forced by circumstance
to discard all of memory’s treasures.
The Llama will spit when the burden’s too great
but the child, he will bury it deep
carry it with him wherever he goes
condition himself not to weep.
The Lion will roar when wounded and weak
lash out at the wind and the rain
the child will yell from his spot deep in hell
and be told he must learn to forgive.
The rats will sneak in – the rats will sneak out
and feast on the lies they deny
the child in plain sight will cry through the night
and be ushered away at sunrise.
There are cracks in the walls as the empire falls
yet the liars still raise a gold chalice
hide in the cloud of incense they spread
to obscure their despicable malice.
So if a child yells, tells you of cold hells
of memories tortured and chained
look into his eyes and search for his soul
and weep, for he knows that you knew.
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2018
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