Young hands fumbling
through inherent motions
with graceless inexperience.
He's never done it before.
Put on a
brave face
to mask
the panicked breathing.
Sweat rolling in waves
down an unwrinkled brow.
Heart thumping loud
to escape a hairless chest.
An adolescent
still wet
behind
the ears.
His body has outgrown
the blissful freedom
of childish naivety.
Ungainly limbs,
programmed to a new purpose,
usurp that serenity.
Silent expectation.
The time
has come.
He fires
his gun.
"You're a man now, son."
But he's learnt to **** a man,
before he's even so much as
kissed a girl.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
Young hands fumbling
through inherent motions
with graceless inexperience.
He's never done it before.
Put on a
brave face
to mask
the panicked breathing.
Sweat rolling in waves
down an unwrinkled brow.
Heart thumping loud
to escape a hairless chest.
An adolescent
still wet
behind
the ears.
His body has outgrown
the blissful freedom
of childish naivety.
Ungainly limbs,
programmed to a new purpose,
usurp that serenity.
Silent expectation.
The time
has come.
He fires
his gun.
"You're a man now, son."
But he's learnt to **** a man,
before he's even so much as
kissed a girl.
I was inspired by the particular line of Sting's "Children's Crusade":
"Virgins with rifles"
I thought this was a beautifully tragic image to toy with.