A smoking gun hangs loose in his hand
the little boy now a wanted man.
Desperately trying to find the reason
life had come to this dreary season.
How could the choices that seemed so right
lead to this cold and lonely night?
Why was he blind to the truth he now sees,
it's icy fingers buckle his knees.
He only sought what he felt should be,
born in a childhood surrounded in 'me'.
Festered and fed year after year,
never a 'no' only 'yes dear'.
Carelessly callous of those he taunted,
always given all that he wanted,
All that he wanted except for true caring,
left on lifes sea without any bearing.
The news doesn't speak of a child neglected,
how the lack of discipline left him infected.
No respect for his neighbor or humanity,
unaware of what it really means to be free.
Just the story of a house filled with death
and a trail that led to a boy on meth,
Who is yet to understand the depth of his err,
as we ponder the question 'Why should we care?'