It is amazing how the eye can twist,
Turn and embellish the things that we see
It fell from his hand and behind his wrist
About to explode but then silently
The sweet young boy with the toy hand grenade
Smiled at me as I looked at his play thing
Lost in the feverish inner tirade
A plastic owl, an awakening sting
An innocent young boy with no weapon
Walking down the street and playing sweetly
The sick demons of my own perception
Imposing this dark scene so suddenly
The 'grenade' was my own dark confection
A figment of my own sad invention
Wednesday 7 July 2010
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