A feast of the spirit

A child like omen, bereft with tears, Hearing the word, conjuring up fears, Try though he did, to not upset God, He found himself, in another sinful bog. Growing up he heard the words, "If you play with fire, you will get burns!" Not that the solemn child did, But for every mistake, the child had hid, From a punishing God, to a parent, The things he had done, were not readily apparent. Forced to grow up at a tender young age, He tried and tried his best to behave. Sometimes it's easy, otherwise it's not, But this child believes it is worth a shot, And though God had other plans for this troubled Young mind, The poor poor child was still left behind. "I will have my revenge upon you," so said that child, "Mark my words, it will not be mild." "I will feast on your spirit, to be more godlike, It's the only way that I can make it right." Since Christ had died for the worlds sin, This little boy decided to give in, To take his life so as to be without it, He felt he'd triumph so he shouted. He fell asleep in morbid depression, He took his life, as he did not like the lesson.