I can't imagine,
The soul inside the child,
Whom lost both, mother and father,
And the life he tries,
A painstaking life,
That one, fresh into this world doesn't deserve,
Yet he grows, and the pain,
Unrelenting,
As this child,
Doting from his deceased father,
Whom, in the hand of God, may he rest,
Is gifted, in perception,
Yet, like his mother,
Whom in the hands of the divine, may she rest in peace,
Has the temper of a wildfire,
And with his age, as he grew,
He became brilliant, gifted even,
Yet quickly, he was riled up,
And in his anger,
He slaughtered his peers,
Within his blind rage,
And he knew the consequences,
As he stares down the cliff's edge,
And he walks.
