| The Gate of Horn This Solution |
| Poor boy, you say,
Shaking your head, Averting your Eyes. Poor boy. It Scares you to hear I�ve wasted such time. The years, the years That I�ve thought of This solution, not Being cornered, Fear stricken and Devoid of self Love for the cord, For the thorn and The cross. Poor boy. Why does he speak Of what he does Not know? Why does He think of what Has been sugar- Coated by pain, Pain and the stark Reality, Years of words hurled, Of stones thrown, of High, weak walls torn By conditions, By self-doubt with Little thought or Delibera- tion? What of love? What of those whom Have given so Many a tear For you, withheld Many a word For you, many A protest of Fear for you? What Of you? At just Thirteen, barely A man, barely. How can justice Be permanence When there is so Little to look back Upon? Your youth, Such youth and my Will, has it no Say? Oh, how I Scare, how I shock Even the most Confident, the Most prepared of You. How this has Been entertained, This circus, this Freak show; I am The amazing Talent of show, Hypocrisy If you really Want to know, if It will ease your Pain�never mind My pain, it is Irrelevant� A coward in Ev�ry aspect. I am great hype Sans conviction, But you knew that. Never mind my Guilt, it too is Irrelevant. Then how can I Say what you will Not? How can I Face what has been Shunned by us for So many years? Do I dare attempt To justify Death? Do I dare? |