Drawn Farther Back
The murder was clear,
as the boy hid in fear,
in the closet,
he had drawn farther back,
the only witness to the attack,
his eyes grew,
the air felt dense,
his expression narrow,
his face tense,
and his lips tried to form a word,
but nothing came out,
nothing was heard..
An olive branch swayed in the breeze,
over and over in his mind he sees,
where the child had fallen,
and the anguish and cries he still hears,
as he fights back the tears,
the sweat stinging his eyes,
as his shadows were shouting out,
nothing but obvious lies,
the child made a soft,
when he hit the ground,
he felt helpless
in the face of his own cowardice,
still, the child remained,
and courage, he had not gained,
he saw himself as in a vision,
with his mind forever stained,
hoping death would find him,
as he swung from a tree in the garden,
searching for God’s eternal pardon.
© 2011 Frank Atanacio
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