Suffer the little children, under the shadow of domestic unrest!
Children’s darling pictures on the mantle
Seemingly mean nothing anymore
But ammunition in a war of attrition
Just another way of keeping score
Perhaps the parent’s points are all that matters
Oblivious they walk through slamming doors
Such self-indulgent battles leave them blinded
To everything but the tallies on the walls
The casualties in all this are the children
They suffer more with every passing week
As bit part puppets in a live production
Scarred by wicked words their parents speak
Character assassination of another
Seems to be the order of the day
Mum and dad, so mean to one another
“It’s my fault, what did I do or say?”
Children now conceive that they’re the problem
In response to all the wreckage all around
Through the night, weeping in their solitude
Sadly, parents never seem to hear a sound
Children, empty vessels thirst for knowledge
Corrupted by the lies poured into them
Life is sometimes but a vicious circle
Will history repeat itself again?
Original Dark Poetry.
Copyright © Craig Detheridge.
2015 – 2017.