08 Apr 2016c – Sonnet
How does one unwind a childhoods’ horrors
curled inside a cobra’s woven basket?
Skulls slam shut and welcome no explorers,
eating hope alive as hungry caskets.
Compassion cast aside as if unclean,
and mercy gets proclaimed an unsure bet.
The flames of hell and every tenant’s screams
are held up as the earnings children get.
A mailed fist held my childhood’s heart in fear,
which trembled like a sparrow in the night.
No voice of comfort, sympathetic ear,
or word of hope to bring my young soul light.
I ran from God once I got legs to flee.
I’d still be running, had not Love caught me.