Hear ye, hear ye!

Outlaw the squeaky toy

telling me to move on

and chase away the resounding laughter

of the days long gone.

Pray, mock me no longer

for I need not reminders

of what conspired

that 'jolly' December.

I can still see them point

and I can still hear them jeer

- not at the death-defying trapeze artists

and nor at the lion tamer

whom I swore showed no fear-

but at the innocent naivety

of my yesteryears

It's almost funny

how words, like swords,

can leave one so soft

and so brittle;

so exposed

and belittled.

Oh but to hear them laugh

and to hear them sing,

my heart must ache so terribly

for the petty brutality

thrust halfheartedly

into a pair of ears

unable to return

the same sense of chivalry.

Alas, novice grief threatens logic's hold

on the fortress of my thoughts

and, as if possessed by their words,

an urge to vilify and condemn grows

and slithers from my throat.

Yet perhaps in an attempt

to heal my wounded pride;

or to atone for

the Evil need to spite,

I took a Crusader's oath

and, in blind faith,

swore Fealty to the righteous

and the 'good' only to realise

that many a Knight claim

to walk the path of light

whilst wielding weapons

, too frequently, to pillage and to rape

like the creatures of the night.

The April rain falls with my tears

as if also mourning

- not only for the loss of my youth

and for the brave hearts I knew-

but , most sorrowfully,

for the lives I took believing

that I had to always take sides

and to follow the path of the 'right'

rather than to discover, explore and travel;

to forgive, forget and learn

what it truly means to be human.