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Quagmire
Huddling in fear
Far away from here
You wouldn't know him or his story
Unless I told you.
You wouldn't be able to care
For someone you didn't know
No matter how much he needs it there's still silence
So now I'll tell you.
Rising and falling, exhaling
Breathy non-existent tears
Boys don't cry
So this man shouldn't try.
Hands scarred by labour
A palette of blues, reds, blacks
This Quagmire's revelling in his rest
Unsure if he could carry on work at his best
Dreams of bliss
Just can't be missed
He enjoys them everyday
Huddles with fear
Far away from here
Wishing he was out and away
He lives in a dirty hole
Behind big cold walls
Truth be told, it stinks and it reeks
But no one would dare to complain at all.
Massages his freshest blue
Pressing it into the black
Feeling the pain sear into his skin
Believing he'll be doomed to be coloured this way forever.
Forgot his skin colour
After being burnt and cold and hurt
And he endeavours what no man could imagine.
What pain and suffering is to us
Is everyday norm
Is a ritual performed
Regretfully against his will
Yet not a word passes his lips
No he doesn't dare to let anyone else care
Care about the life he lives
And how it should be lived.
See, if you'd known this Quagmire
You'd love to hug him to sleep
And when he's slept you would weep
You would see that you'd love to love him.
I'm telling you this story
And not because you deserved it
He deserves it being told
Because once it's out
There is a chance
For him to be
Anywhere
Than huddling in fear
Far away from here.
---
Note: Actually when I wrote this I had no idea what the word 'quagmire'
meant. So after I wrote the poem I looked it up.
'noun 1. a situation that is so difficult or complicated that you cannot make much
progress'.
That's pretty accurate. I intended Quagmire to be his name, but a label of his predicament
is a terrific second.