Seven Years Ago
Seven years ago he stepped out of the grass
Into the muddy swamp, littered with glass
Garbage, vermin, toxic fumes, acid, death
He started digging, glass cutting fragile skin
The wounds festered but he ignored his health
For to stop digging, to cease torture, would be sin
Seven years ago, he slew a butterfly
Seven years ago, his conscience died
Seven years later, the tears’ not dried
Seven years later, his hands’ still tied
People stare from the grass, unwilling to come near
His crime forgotten by everyone but himself
He chooses not to stop, not to come back to the land of wealth
He’s bound not by chains but by fear
Fear of harm, of killing again
Unfit to be human, he keeps digging
A butterfly lands on his shoulder and he flinches
Stumbles away frantically
Buries his head in his grimy hands
Whispers a prayer for his old self.
Seven years ago, when he was human.
Seven years ago, when he could feel.