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(
[sid] => 184870
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Boy I Knew
[time] => 2018-02-12 06:33:07
[hometext] => This could be anyone...it IS the story for thousands of children.
[bodytext] =>
Long long ago, I recall a young boy,
this memory of him, miles from joy.
He was always alone, no mom or dad,
my recollection of him, breathtakingly sad.
I watched him live on peanut butter alone,
just a spoon, no bread, in an unfurnished home;
I remember a father, fuzzy then gone,
a drug addled mother days off on her own.
I still hear his screams, “I won’t do it again. I promise I won’t!”
I saw him punched in the face, “You’re damn right, you don’t!”
Nobody called for the kid who fell through the cracks;
I/'/ll never forget the screams, the drunken attacks.
But there came a day, then two, three and four,
when his mother left on a binge, slamming the door,
and that child had nothing, just a warm glass of milk;
he stumbled starving outside, all bruises and filth.
Unknown to him, there were people that care,
he cried in terror, “What if mom comes and I’m not there!?”
but they were so kind, so nice; to him, unheard of,
that first day he discerned an inkling of love.
I learned he became a ward of the court,
and options were open, though of limited sort.
He found people want cute little babies, fresh as new socks,
with no call for children with psyche’s addled and knocked.
And adoption? Oh, my! Not for this boy!
So a step down for him to the foster home ploy.
He went to families working the state that pays by the head,
while social workers didn’t taste the slop he was fed, or note the floor he called bed.
The state supposedly checked, but not once I saw the year he turned eight,
but scared for his life he breathed not a word of the rapes.
Twelve different families took him in for the check and let their church know,
But (hush!) money is money, so “Sure, what the heck?”
One home was shy of a room for the child.
They pointed out back while grabbing his arm,
saying, “You got soft piles of hay, go sleep in the barn!”
Then family vacation arrived, with two weeks out west,
But he wasn’t family; “Food’s there” and they left.
At some point the state must have finally learned,
so off to the Catholics for an orphanage turn;
rulers and welts marked Godless days,
but not children who knew the right thing to say.
Well this kid that I know by then was a wreck,
he was violent, withdrawn; a psychotic mess.
A Doctor was needed! “Boy, we’ll get you to grin!
Open your mouth son, let the Thorazine in”.
I saw him sink into a vacant eyed daze,
and by golly, no trouble with Thorazine three times a day.
At nine years of life he was lifeless to smiles,
while doctors made plans jotting notes in his file.
I learned this poor kid with a Thorazine drool
was proclaimed irremediably lost; a systemic victim, about to be tossed.
Youth asylum graduates don’t earn degrees; “No excitement!, it could lead to strife”,
No, just a bus ride to the big house to be drugged for life.
But miracles happen; with two weeks from the bin,
I heard he was called to the office, “Boy, you’re ship has come in!”
“Miguel, I reckon God works in mysterious ways,
a family wants to adopt you sight unseen in two days”.
Not knowing joy, he just nodded okay;
in a life of nothing but hell, he had nothing to say.
With his new family in a house big as a castle,
he didn’t grasp he was wanted so thick were pain’s tassels.
But little by little by little, a boyish smile took form,
and deep in his heart shined a glimmer, a hope never slimmer dared to be born!
Just love, love; no beatings, no rape, no hunger, no roaches,
just love and acceptance; his heart feeling the healing approaching.
As time turned days into weeks, and weeks into years,
the boy grew to a man hiding well his pain and his fears,
so when I saw him playing, laughing with friends,
I didn’t have a clue; I thought his nightmare an end.
But what did I know? I wasn’t inside, I didn’t feel his pain,
I couldn’t know the damage that thrived in spite of his gains.
The torture of youth, how it twisted the more he pushed back,
but the facade he maintained began cracking at last.
Then I saw bottles littering his room,
all empty like him, his heart echoing gloom;
for he had never let go, didn’t forget nor forgave,
allowing booze as his master, and to drugs he the slave.
But one thing about him, that man loved to read,
his mind was a sponge, books taught him to grieve.
He let go of that feeling when kids think it’s their fault,
at last viewing his life, all the damage he wrought.
He thought he knew love; man, he was sure!
But all he knew were the motions; imitations, not pure.
His adopted family showed him loves gift,
they unwrapped some of the pain, healing some of the rift.
But it took that boy, now a middle-aged man,
to know the true meaning of love, to at last understand.
He discovered love’s not an act, a thing that you do;
love is wanting more for another than wanting for you.
Not just saying, “No, you take the last bite” as he was taught,
but wanting her the rest and the best no matter the cost.
He learned his wife’s day at work means more than TV,
that love, true love, is kindness to others, not about ‘me’.
So many years he pleaded and prayed; misery stayed to a day he gave up on God,
I watched him plowing through life, stomping in anger with every step trod.
But just as love sang in his heart, wisdom prevailed; he did come to see,
God never left him but blessed him through his family,
or, so he told me.
[comments] => 6
[counter] => 176
[topic] => 31
[informant] => invierno
[notes] =>
[ihome] => 0
[alanguage] => english
[acomm] => 0
[haspoll] => 0
[pollID] => 0
[score] => 0
[ratings] => 0
[editpoem] => 1
[associated] =>
[topicname] => StoryPoetry
)
A Boy I Knew
Contributed by
invierno
on
Monday, 12th February 2018 @ 06:33:07 AM in AEST
Topic:
StoryPoetry
|
Long long ago, I recall a young boy,
this memory of him, miles from joy.
He was always alone, no mom or dad,
my recollection of him, breathtakingly sad.
I watched him live on peanut butter alone,
just a spoon, no bread, in an unfurnished home;
I remember a father, fuzzy then gone,
a drug addled mother days off on her own.
I still hear his screams, “I won’t do it again. I promise I won’t!”
I saw him punched in the face, “You’re damn right, you don’t!”
Nobody called for the kid who fell through the cracks;
I/'/ll never forget the screams, the drunken attacks.
But there came a day, then two, three and four,
when his mother left on a binge, slamming the door,
and that child had nothing, just a warm glass of milk;
he stumbled starving outside, all bruises and filth.
Unknown to him, there were people that care,
he cried in terror, “What if mom comes and I’m not there!?”
but they were so kind, so nice; to him, unheard of,
that first day he discerned an inkling of love.
I learned he became a ward of the court,
and options were open, though of limited sort.
He found people want cute little babies, fresh as new socks,
with no call for children with psyche’s addled and knocked.
And adoption? Oh, my! Not for this boy!
So a step down for him to the foster home ploy.
He went to families working the state that pays by the head,
while social workers didn’t taste the slop he was fed, or note the floor he called bed.
The state supposedly checked, but not once I saw the year he turned eight,
but scared for his life he breathed not a word of the rapes.
Twelve different families took him in for the check and let their church know,
But (hush!) money is money, so “Sure, what the heck?”
One home was shy of a room for the child.
They pointed out back while grabbing his arm,
saying, “You got soft piles of hay, go sleep in the barn!”
Then family vacation arrived, with two weeks out west,
But he wasn’t family; “Food’s there” and they left.
At some point the state must have finally learned,
so off to the Catholics for an orphanage turn;
rulers and welts marked Godless days,
but not children who knew the right thing to say.
Well this kid that I know by then was a wreck,
he was violent, withdrawn; a psychotic mess.
A Doctor was needed! “Boy, we’ll get you to grin!
Open your mouth son, let the Thorazine in”.
I saw him sink into a vacant eyed daze,
and by golly, no trouble with Thorazine three times a day.
At nine years of life he was lifeless to smiles,
while doctors made plans jotting notes in his file.
I learned this poor kid with a Thorazine drool
was proclaimed irremediably lost; a systemic victim, about to be tossed.
Youth asylum graduates don’t earn degrees; “No excitement!, it could lead to strife”,
No, just a bus ride to the big house to be drugged for life.
But miracles happen; with two weeks from the bin,
I heard he was called to the office, “Boy, you’re ship has come in!”
“Miguel, I reckon God works in mysterious ways,
a family wants to adopt you sight unseen in two days”.
Not knowing joy, he just nodded okay;
in a life of nothing but hell, he had nothing to say.
With his new family in a house big as a castle,
he didn’t grasp he was wanted so thick were pain’s tassels.
But little by little by little, a boyish smile took form,
and deep in his heart shined a glimmer, a hope never slimmer dared to be born!
Just love, love; no beatings, no rape, no hunger, no roaches,
just love and acceptance; his heart feeling the healing approaching.
As time turned days into weeks, and weeks into years,
the boy grew to a man hiding well his pain and his fears,
so when I saw him playing, laughing with friends,
I didn’t have a clue; I thought his nightmare an end.
But what did I know? I wasn’t inside, I didn’t feel his pain,
I couldn’t know the damage that thrived in spite of his gains.
The torture of youth, how it twisted the more he pushed back,
but the facade he maintained began cracking at last.
Then I saw bottles littering his room,
all empty like him, his heart echoing gloom;
for he had never let go, didn’t forget nor forgave,
allowing booze as his master, and to drugs he the slave.
But one thing about him, that man loved to read,
his mind was a sponge, books taught him to grieve.
He let go of that feeling when kids think it’s their fault,
at last viewing his life, all the damage he wrought.
He thought he knew love; man, he was sure!
But all he knew were the motions; imitations, not pure.
His adopted family showed him loves gift,
they unwrapped some of the pain, healing some of the rift.
But it took that boy, now a middle-aged man,
to know the true meaning of love, to at last understand.
He discovered love’s not an act, a thing that you do;
love is wanting more for another than wanting for you.
Not just saying, “No, you take the last bite” as he was taught,
but wanting her the rest and the best no matter the cost.
He learned his wife’s day at work means more than TV,
that love, true love, is kindness to others, not about ‘me’.
So many years he pleaded and prayed; misery stayed to a day he gave up on God,
I watched him plowing through life, stomping in anger with every step trod.
But just as love sang in his heart, wisdom prevailed; he did come to see,
God never left him but blessed him through his family,
or, so he told me.
Copyright ©
invierno
... [
2018-02-12 06:33:07]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: A Boy I Knew
(User Rating: 1 )
by JamesStockdale on
Monday, 12th February 2018 @ 10:49:42 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
A very riveting story. So sad but a great read for those that have it all but just don/'/t know it. My uncle and his wife took in many foster kids. Eventually they adopted them all but they got many of them too late. They usually live a horrible life traumatized by the past.
Looking back many are now gone. Drugs and alcohol alleviated their pain and in the end took them away much too soon.
A wonderful write Mike that hit home rather hard for me. |
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Re: A Boy I Knew
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Tuesday, 13th February 2018 @ 02:35:16 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
| Great! Simply great! My eyes, glued to the screen! Thank God for happy endings. |
|
|
Re: A Boy I Knew
(User Rating: 1 )
by RussellReinhardt on
Thursday, 15th February 2018 @ 10:23:37 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
My dear brother
How are you? I/'/m better for reeding this masterpiece. Now as you have come to know me. It/'/s straight down the line. This my friend at first glance is sad I guess if one must.
This could just as well have been me. Well it is me give or take a fact or two away or add others in. I/'/m not ashamed to say what I/'/ve lived through for it could help others get up again. Now only three facts here don/'/t apply to me. My mom wasn/'/t a drunk and my dad never beat me, I was not an orphan.
Out spiders beat and abused me. I was put in homes and foster care. Now the reason I was removed from my home is we were poor and mom taught it best to put us under welfare care. MAN that must have been though on her to let us go so we could eat and sleep in a warm bed. For me that was selfless beyong anything in the world.
We did however go home to mom for school breaks and that was always a treat. Now I know how she loved us and set her feelings aside so we might have it better. So I never told her of the things that went on behind closed doors away from home. She would not have sent us back if she knew and it would have destroyed mom.
But here is the good part. If I had to live it again I would. It has made me who I am. I learned what is good and bad right and wrong. Yes I have my scars but I wear them with pride. By no mean do I think I/'/m a hero I/'/m an average Joe. I/'/m also well a wear of the fact that we are not all the same and quite frankly I consider myself privileged to have come out of it stronger and better, most don/'/t.
This peice you blessed us with just took me back and reminded me how lucky I am to have live the way I did, and to be grateful that I/'/m here alive and well. I love life I embrace challenges for they make us stronger. Most of all I/'/m humbled by the fact that we can help others through our experiences to get better.
And yes you are so right. We learn what all this means the day we find love from a wife and our own children. Those hardships have taught us how not to hurt those we love bit rather protect and love them at all cost.
Beautiful peice Mike. Loving greetings out of Africa
God bless
Rus |
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|
Re: A Boy I Knew
(User Rating: 1 )
by softerware on
Friday, 16th February 2018 @ 03:41:22 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
This is harrowing. I can/'/t say that I can relate. I was lucky. Raised strong and free.
It is a tale of survival at the lowest level. When just a flicker was left, love came along. At last.
Such a nourishing story of emotional resilience.
It makes us at once angry, sad, and sorry to be helpless.
You have stirred the fires in all of us. Some will find courage, and some will be grateful for what they have.
softerware |
|
|
Re: A Boy I Knew
(User Rating: 1 )
by FireStarter on
Saturday, 17th February 2018 @ 11:40:53 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
| This poem enraptured my very soul from beginning to end. It told a tale of a tortured boy who then grew up to be a broken man...to be honest, it reminded me alot of some of my family members...including myself |
|
|
Re: A Boy I Knew
(User Rating: 1 )
by emystar on
Sunday, 18th February 2018 @ 05:15:48 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
Very touching write
Blessings,
emy |
|
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