He wasn’t so smart, he wasn’t so bold
Always his mother’s child,
At 12, he wasn’t so old
—
He couldn’t count so well, he couldn’t really talk
He was a misfit of every kind,
He didn’t fit in at all.
—
He had been sheltered, but that was for his sake
He couldn’t survive this mean bad world
He couldn’t understand their take
—
But then his mother died, leaving him all alone
A lost and confused boy of 12,
Left in this big bad world on his own
—
He stared at people grieving with him
Looking at him with eyes so kind
But they all then left,
Leaving humanity to raise a child
—
If you are thinking, this is an ode to his success
A story of how he grew up to be a man
These words shall disappoint
—
For in the night he went to his mother grave
He didn’t understand why she left him,
So he lied there till his tears dried
—
In the morning when the caretaker came
He saw his frozen body on her grave
He sighed and dug another hole
—
Next to the mother laid her son,
For a truth that we all know deep inside
A true tribute to our kind
—
The world we created is not for the weak to survive
For we might call ourselves human
But from the time we are born, we are coached
To feel humanity and but not bring it in life
Maybe this is the poem,
…of how humanity died.
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