Such a small death
The death of innocence
It goes unmarked
Un-mourned
Into the quiet backdrop of social ills
Such a tiny death
With tiny hands and tiny feet
That never could grasp
What was happening
It was but for the briefest of time
A tale told wide eyed
Only to be stricken in its prime
The innocent death
Of children
And thereafter in the backwash of isolation
Hangs the split
And the trait
Of always damaged
Butterfly wings once touched
Never get off the ground
Broken before life had its chance
And now
A mere discarded toy
Of transients thrill
And perfections sickness
The little hands and tiny feet
Have to make their crooked way
Alone
Such a small death
The death of innocence
It always goes unmarked and un-mourned
Into the quiet backdrop
Of cultural ills
Very nice poem! well writen with supence and keeps the reader awake and wondering where is more what happens next?
Flows purfectly with the title. Very catchy!
Submission Name: Tiny Toys
