Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Arthur

You were a gift,
given to the undeserving.
Failed by everyone who found you,
helpless and hurt,
sleeping, still, after it ended,
as the fingers began to point,
alibis and excuses forming from thin air.
All those adults,
running from one narrative to another,
chasing their own escape,
never accepting that it would have been so easy to care, when they had the chance.
Sweet child,
who suffered so much,
you were a gift,
given to the undeserving,
painted in your pain,
as the endless night goes on,
and you wonder aloud if anybody loved you.
Your cries were heard,
far too late,
by far too few.

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