Little Boy Lost (Series – Part 1)

colours were a blur back then, before the War began
the world was grey ~ bundled in arms, given to faces
you didn’t recognise, could you tell who was real
cries for those you knew, unheard in darkest rooms

years passed, at six, she took you back, to share her life
~ with him, who fought with drunken screams, until you
ran away, back to the arms, that held you soft
and there was a silent love

confusion, upheaval, as you were taken ‘home’
~ biological this time, to the father you never knew
knees plunged deep in Europe’s snow, tiny hands
chilled to the bone, sent to chop the wood, with pockets sewn

by the man whose roof you slept beneath, hands could not
be warmed ~ the icy bitter winds, the threadbare coat and
pants, no boots to stop the damp, doing as instructed
curled body, a child that attic slept, did you dream

your cries should have been louder, what were your thoughts
loneliness your friend; a 1930’s scholar, University
was for you ~ that is what your teacher said, but your father
forbade it, no money to be wasted on school

your half sibling, ate his meal whilst warming chilled bones
by the fire ~ the woman who did not give you birth
demanding your meals eaten, on the landing of the stairs
so you sat and watched in silence, without love

a child’s life
should not be like this
a childhood that was yours
I wish you had screamed louder Pop
I wish
you didn’t have to scream at all

©jmtacken 9th November 2013

I wish to do my Pop’s life in prose.  As this is my 660th post. It may be some time before the next one, as there is a lot of research to be done.