Analysis of The Child

Young child,
Oblivious, reckless, meaningless troubles
No purpose does the child serve.

Throbbing hearts beat in my hand
Yet the child lay naked and starved.

A man I have become overnight.
The child’s youthfulness disturbs me.

Expecting his death, her death, my death
Become someone else’s young wife
While I prepare for her son to fall at my kee

I am ready to let this child go free.
Time is up!
I have baggage
I am damaged goods.

Don’t write, don’t speak, don’t think
Do you understand?

With my ego fully clothed
Nothing means nothing
And nothing needs talking about.

My men, my life, my fight, their fight.
No room for a child’s spirit
The child’s hands are clean, and mine dirty.

Find another likeminded sprout
One strike, two-strike.
I’m out.