The gusts of wind rustle through his dark hair as he rides his broomstick
In the search of the golden snitch – In the search of the ferrety golden snitch.
And in his mind whizzes past an image – at lightning speed, very swiftly,
As his expert eyes go after the small shiny metallic ball.

The Nimbus 2000 he once owned has now been replaced with another
In the attempt to make him quicker – In the attempt to make him quicker.
His eyes look like his mother Lily’s – His father James was a Seeker,
This is an analogy of a natural case of heredity in Harry.

The old broomstick Nimbus 2000 he owned was broken into pieces
In his third year at the school of magic – In his third year at Hogwarts.
Dementors attacked him – in the Quidditch pitch during a match,
And he fell several feet below from air before Dumbledore saved him.

Let me tell you a story about a Boy
Who had a broomstick and a wand as his toy
But alas! Nothing ever goes right
The only thing the Boy remembers from his childhood is a flash of green light
He was orphaned at the age of one
Lily died protecting her son
And his mother's love was a magic he would always carry
His last name was Potter; his first name Harry...
He was the only one to survive the unforgivable curse
No one knew how the spell had fired in reverse
For baby Harry had survived this curse in his cot
The monster who had tried to **** him was Lord Voldemort
The only thing left behind by this curse was what made him special - his scar
But his non magic relatives who took him in lied that it was the result of the crash of a car
Muggles was the name given to these non magic folks
Magic would stare them in the eye and they would still call it a hoax
It was not till his 11th birthday that Harry discovered the truth
When the giant Hagrid broke down the door; a sight that would give nightmares to any youth
While they were all trying to make sense of this human-giant hybrid
'You're a wizard, Harry' revealed Hagrid
Now it all made sense to Harry; the strangeness, the magic
And no his parents did not die in a car; it was way more tragic
So now Harry finally began his seven years at Hogwarts
And it was ensured that the strangeness would multiply now onwards
Harry was surprised to find out that the whole wizarding world knew about him
They were surprised to find out that Harry was not spoiled, but good - natured and slim
So on 1st September Harry Potter boarded the Hogwarts Express
Those who saw him gave him a look of impress
On this train he made his first friends and foe
But that was Harry's new life - with them he would grow
Potions, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts to name a few
Those were their subjects and to Harry they were completely new
Thee year passed by without him knowing
And before he knew it, it was already snowing
He became the youngest seeker in a 100 years
It was not until the end of the year that he faced his worst fears
The monster that had tried to **** him had returned
But Harry cheated death again though he almost burned
In the seven years he had many an adventure
The Forbidden Forest was a place he promised himself he would never again venture
He reunited with his Godfather who had been wrongly framed
Harry was the only one to pass out because of the dementors which made him extremely ashamed
The potions master he hated had a history very long
It was only after Snape died Harry realised about him he had been so wrong
Dumbledore's Army finally overthrew Umbridge's reign
The only potion that controlled Lupin was Wolfsbane
This poem has the story in a very haphazard plot
Harry found out how to end Lord Voldemort
For this all the Horcruxes had to be destroyed
This was possible due to Dobby - your argument is void
In these seven years Harry understood friendship and love
Oh and his patronus was a stag; not a rabbit or a dove
To succeed in life you needn't go a great length
Just turn your weakness into your strength
The scar wasn't a curse; it was his gift
This story is about The Boy Who Lived...

Nineteen years ago,
I was born to a woman
I've yet to know.
She would holler and cuss me
Up and down,
Beating me into a mist
With an open fist
And her furrowed brow.

I tried to expose her vanity once.
She broke a mirror 
And slit my throat with the biggest shard.
As she did so,
I heard her say
"Toughen up, because this life is hard."

My tears drove the blood off the glass
As I sat flat on my ***,
Reflecting upon who I was
As the mirror foretold
Who I would not become:

A horrible woman
Destroying what she was meant to love.

Now, I sit abandoned in my car,
Low on gas and not going far.
My soul has gone
And passed me by.
O lord,
Am I misery's child?
I still remember what she last said,
Those violent words echo in my head:

”Apologies, but you're no longer our problem.
We held up our end by getting you in debt,
It's not our fault you don't know how to spend.
We at least try to pretend like we care,
But you're so inconsiderate and spoiled.

It's not so hard to get a high paying job,
I've had one here since at least '03.
Seems like you're just pretty lazy to me;
Go to unemployment if you're hungry. 

Don't complain or try to change it,
You shouldn't have been born
If you're not "man" enough to make it.
Millennials like you are all the same,
Getting in the way of my retirement. 

Your generation has really gotten lost,
Homosexuals now have their own **** cause.
They're protesting and lying
Saying that the world's dying,
I really don't have time for all their *******. 

Now I guess it's time for you to go,
Have fun being homeless and broke.
I wish I could see the look on your face
When your world crashes down
And your sanity faces extinction."

My existence is a heavy one,
But I simply can't resist
The burning temptation
To look back and reminisce 
On how much of my childhood I miss.
The toys were for playing,
Sick days for faking,
And holidays lushened my savings.
The world was full of wonder
As well as excitement,
Nothing could pull me under
Or tamper with every precious moment. 

Hindsight is 20/20,
But nostalgia is more a rosy haze.
That's why I know that with 
Every jolly laugh or hearty smile,
My parents beat me down
So that I'd forever stay mild. 

The scars in my psyche still mix
With what I want to believe
My past really is,
But time has taught me
That wishing for a better past
Won't help us save the future.

I read a poem many years ago,
It's message of hope and freedom
Seems to have gone the length it could go.
Feeling the author's ethereal dismay,
I adapted it to our modern age:

Not unlike the monster for which it was named,
With debaucherous whims that divide foreign lands;
Here at the briny, gilded portal to our home now stands
A hollow woman with a torch, whose warmth
Has become faded and disheartening, and her name
Mother of Philistines. From her once guiding hand
Emerges world-wide distaste; deranged eyes ransack
The smog-filled harbor that dystopias fame.
“Keep, other lands, your progressive pomp!” shrieks she
With welded lips. “Take our tired, our poor,
Our huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of our teeming shore.
Take these, the homeless, tempest-tost from me,
Lift your lamp as a guide and take them all!”

Heavy as it all may be,
I've witnessed this to be reality.
They drive around
In fanciful cars,
Acting profound
And giving us scars. 

Don't trust them for a minute,
our commanders in chief.
They'll leave you diminished-
Hollowed like Swiss cheese.

My routine now is so hollow and boring,
I've made a list and by god I deplore it:

Awaken
Rise
Walk
Empty
Clean
Kiss
Goodbye
Drink
Eat
Sleep
Aw­aken
Boredom
Silence/Music
Boredom
Loneliness
Sadness
Arrival
Hello
Kiss
Talk
Smoke
Lo­­ve
Eat
Watch
Goodbye
Watch
Smoke
Sleep
Awaken

(Repeat ad nauseam)

At least now that I have a new job
I can feel productive and not be a slob.
Rise and shine, time to cruise away;
Rushing out in the dollar's name
As my life is used in vane
For poor commerce's sake.
"It doesn't matter if your heart aches
Or if tragedy gives you a teary shake
You better not be late
Or you’ll eat from an empty plate
And starve until heaven's gate."

Arrrrgh! I can't bear the aching strain!
It seems I'm stumbling yet again!
My mind is slipping swift-like;
Kindly please step in this time.
Taking a bend distracting the pain;
Faking solace standing in rain.
Let’s sink a hearty round o’ drinks,
Glasses half full with a browned out tint.
Pipes smashed as stability abruptly shatters-
Life’s abashed daze subtly ceases to matter...

But then,
A calming voice
Guided my head
And decided my soul
It was to mend:

"Breathe deep
And digress painfully
As the slow burning march
Of time's progression
Takes your soul."

Then a message that came
From the ether one day
Did tear my soul sore
In a way I cannot explain:

"You can't stay young forever
___

Life will try to leave you behind anyways"

And so, I posed a question most should:
"Why live life if it's joys are no good?"

But ARRRRRRRRGH!,
THE AGONY, THE PAIN
I've suffered so much and it feels all in vane.
Fighting my demons within a cage
While this mounting plume of rage
Boils up throughout my veins.
If I could snap now,
You bet I would.

Learning to live with ancient pains
Scarring my feeble brain
As she soaks in her bloodstain.
If I could snap now,
You bet I would.

Standing out on the edge
Wishing I was dead
As the wind pushes my head.
If I could snap now,
You bet I would.

But my life ain't history
There's still plenty left to see
Like a day when I stand free.
I know I can't snap now,
I've got to see it through
So that one day this tale may reach you.

I'm much wiser now than I was long ago,
It's been 8 months that I've been taking it slow.
If I know anything now, it's that life isn't a trap;
It can be more of a trip if you learn to fight back.
But you have to love yourself first
Here, I'll let you see
The words I wrote for you to read:

"Be kind 
Every time
Your reflection
Meets the eye-

Who you see
May just be
The person
To set you free."

That's all she wrote about her life and journey,
So many times it could've ended with a gurney.
Now take my heed as a call to arms
For our armies are millions thick and much too strong.
Let us relay this message to our tormentors,
Who have ****** at our souls like feasting dementors:

We, The Progeny
Have toiled too long
&
Shouldered too much

For us to deserve
The moniker of
"Children"-

Henceforth,
Call us all "Atlas,"
For we carry your 
Trespasses against this world
Upon our bloodied shoulders.