Get Your Premium Membership

Isis stole my son

Isis stole my son. My hand was clasped, tight, I swear Our fingers entwined, as he tugged me, eagerly, around the fair From the ducks, to the teacups, his smile was mine alone We were two, hand in hand, tone within tone. A plane, it juttered, just above his sweet head The wind jostled his fair hair, drowned out the words we both said. And I was distracted, briefly, by a fraction of a noise Or a tug, or whimper, from a small gaggle of young boys Until my own, he ran, our fingers unentwined My own, left lonely, unable to find His small thumb, from my palm Was disconnected, slightly lost I ran, crazed with emptiness, from stall to stall Checked the ducks, and the teacups, scowered the food hall Till alast, he was found, by a gingerly old lady Exhausted, equally frightened, he grasped my hand, then everything goes shady Was it my fault, then, or now Now he truly is gone, from our safe little town Now he truly is lost, as he chased fickle promises As he once chased butterflies, yet now, he chases prophecies I feel so exhausted, my tire is everlasting My sweet little boy, caught in a dangerous casting He loved the patterns, on the bumblebees back So much, he cared little, of their painful attack He would cry, yes, lots of tears would pour So I would put him on the counter, swoop him up from the floor And kiss his little finger, take the pain away I was magical then, my promise was all he’d obey And with a cuddle, he return to his tasks Falling through the grassery, before that required a gas mask Collecting crickets in his palm, where my fingers sometimes lay On my mind, these sweet little nothings, ever so do weigh But he grew, and things became hard, His laugh became less, and less so, to be heard. Their was a boy at school, a mean little soul Who would kick him, and punch him, his games were so foul But I always put a plaster, on the bruises so sore And promised him better, for this I never foresaw Things did not get better, but he learnt to fight, And punch, and kick, which was fine, until he started going out at night And im sure, though not certain, I had once seen A sparkling, white, silver, knife like gleam But I was now frightened, on who shared my home Less my son, now a stranger, I was completely alone. He returned later, and later still, Until, one day, my son left, abruptly, to kill. But I had no idea, if return, he would Until a month later, when call, he felt he should And he whispered, very quietly, his fate he was sold And the reality he kept, so very untold And I told no-one, so ashamed I had failed My sweet little boy, could even become jailed. He is married, something I did not witness To a girl, frightened, the phrophet their eyewitness Her only escape, is the day he might die In a field, alone, I will never say goodbye So my sweet little child, whos knees were so sore Can return to an angel, as he was once before.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.