He should have been innocent at ten
Out from his mother's den
Not like a rogue cub that's bitten
His furry experiment, a kitten
How can he be so rotten
For he purchased a ball of cotton
It's paws bracing its last amen
From a malls pet store then
To hell rides, a mortal sin
He rode that bus on the chin
With a boxed ball at his arm
That little ball of fur meant no harm
Scratching the whim of the boy
His pet was making such a noise
All those rider's eyes cast on him
Red faced and on a limb
He covered the boxes vents
So no noise to him made sense
Taking the ball of furs' breath away
How can his head be in a cloud
The devil speaking loud
As the frantic meows began to stop
It's tongue flop, flop, flop
Frozen in transit, as his kitten soon lay
It's ice floating in his shallow bay
Dark was the boys discovery
A lifetime of no recovery
Remembering those pinks be crying
Trashing about and dying
That little ball of fur sitting still
Such a death, is this bitter pill
For the young boy fell off from this branch
Unforgiving of the kitten's trance
Logan Robertson
7/20/2019
The writers pen takes the readers down a path that's dark and cold, where ***** of fire replace ***** of cotton. Sadly. He does imagine and create the day, of that child looking into the cardboard box. The stillness. The kitten's elongated body rigid to the touch. All the while his bay losing depth, life, and sunshine, as the years continued on. The part of the poem that I like is the boy fell off a branch but first he was faced with a limb.