Puppets to the Walls


Young, eager feet surged towards the edge of the emerald grass,

But the young boy’s finite adventure came to a halt.

The familiar fence towered above his wide-eyed glare,

And his steps led him back to his personal palace by default.


The boy’s trott was stopped once again, 

But this time it was his mother’s indignant glare that grabbed ahold of his bantam feet.

His mother’s scolding brimmed with warnings of danger,

All while the birds chirped and not a living thing roamed the street.


The child nodded, displaying his understanding for the formidable world,

But he sincerely did not care, for he only wished to continue his idle play with cheer.

He pranced with his puppy and his toys and his bike,

All while his mother gazed behind their fence, flush with fear.


Outside their fence, crime and threat littered the land,

So the young boy’s family built their fence higher and higher,

until his glare could no longer climb over.

But he still continued to play behind the barbed wire.


Eventually the young boy ran in too many circles.

His mother was a puppet to the walls for too long,

And the sun wouldn’t rise any longer.

They became victims to their personal trap, quietly dying, becoming carrion.


Flies swarmed their restless bodies,

Feeding off of their angst, which was colored by a fatal odor.

The insects continued until they grew tired of the family’s wilted sight,

So the bugs flew beyond the wire, the wall, and the weathered border.