Poetry

I cry for the little boy I was,
I cry for him: deeply every day.
I cry that I failed him: utterly.
For the poor decisions I unmade,
The stupid risks I stayed,
The first kiss and first bases delayed,
The things he loved I crushed,
And his hates; foolishly entertained.
 
 
I cry for myself,
For murdering, killing;
Destroying a childhood,
And for messing a future
The poor decisions, the risks, the delayed
The crushed affairs and loathes entertained,
Where is he now? Who I am now?
Where is his place in this world?