The Dark Prince
Competition Year: 2013
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What from mine, is not taken, and given to that broken fledgling
A shame upon our father, the infants black feather wings unfurled
was he even able to fly mother? ...we made chains to imprison him in his inner world.
Binding his heart to the concrete of the courtyard, a thousand years he was pounding
At a great iron gate with no guard, at the thunder in the clouds resounding
A dark anger in his bones that came from a mother, who chose again not to suckle
Another thousand years my brother, locked inside that courtyard, scars instead of knuckles.
...sometimes I would sit and listen to his calls
as his blackened hands would scrape against the white marble walls
so why did our father see him only fit to decorate the cold courtyard floor?
and...mother? ...mother do you think he knows what way is the open door?
I sometimes think that his anger was graceful innocence
in that if we loved him as our own we would not have any sense
and that the freedom outside of his yard was just another court,
and luck for him yet; to see not that freedom would be only games of sport.
and that the fists that beat our walls serves only to soothe our thought.
Or was there only demons inside himself?
...That made him break his bones against themselves.