It didn’t make a better man of him
or teach him right or wrong
It only taught fear,
how to hide it
and get along
It didn’t teach him love
(that being a novel point of view)
The anger already residing
there waiting
in situ
And now older (and colder),
he’s merely joins the queue
of those reliving
and burning
to do it back to you.
His only escape; a poetic vision,
one he didn’t grow out of,
despite your fists he learnt
ways to find
a literal love.
