Like the whole world really, a ruin of a family stands
In the ruins of a house, once a home.
The angels were supposedly watching over them.
(But they too have to sleep, right?)
But despite all odds, despite your absence, the father
Of the two little boys isn't just playing at being a father
And he keeps them alive.
Even when the price is his own life, he keeps them alive,
Because he loves his children.
exhibit a
Years later, the older boy is too beautiful not to wear his smile as a mask,
Not to hide behind false words and real weapons
Because he doesn't know how to admit defeat,
He doesn't know how to give up. But he also doesn't know how to stop
The pain in his chest when he thinks of everything
He'd received for all his wounds and efforts –
The wary, almost unfriendly glances of otherwise kind people,
The scent of mistrust his too old car, too old jacket and too old eyes always awakened.
He's keeping himself in one piece just because he doesn't know how not to.
exhibit b
Are you there, God?, the younger one whispers long after
He stopped believeing he'd actually get an answer, out of habit more than anything.
He had everything, for the second time in his life, he had everything
And again you stood and let it be taken away, let him be reduced
To a huter of shadows, little bit more than a shadow himself.
Doesn't he remind you of your beloved son? Doesn't he remind you of yourself?
But you let him fall over and over and over again,
So what if once he won't be able to get up? What then?
Do you really can't see this rock of a man is crumbling, day by day?
(Will you glue him back together?)
exhibit c
He's so childlike at times it's hard to realize that behind the blue eyes
Is a force hundreds of years old and, to make matters worse,
He kept his faith more than most.
It's one thing to let down humans, but completely different
If it's one of your children, one of those who've seen you, who do consider you
Father. Doesn't it hurt you, seeing him at times so lost, so confused,
Yet determined to do what's right? (Tell him that right and wrong don't exist anymore)
Look at him, you who calls himself Father, look at him.
He might be more worn out in a couple of short years here than he was
In all the time by your side, but his tired face carries more knowledge than you ever gave him.
closing word
Three orphans. Three sets of shoulders, each carrying the world.
Three sets of eyes, quick to judge and slow to relax.
Three souls, caught in a vicious game no one else is willing to play,
But the stakes are too high for them not to.
Each of them broken. Each hurt. Each just a little bit wild.
Each of them doing the best they can, giving everything they have,
Because there is simply no one else to step in.
(So stop pretending you're out there, God. Stop pretending you care.)
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team free will graphics challenge || poetryandoldermen vs @winchestears
↳prompt: ragtag bunch of misfits
