David Dybdal, MD, PhD
|Posted on 5 December, 2020 at 0:25|
Mommy's little golden boy soars high up above the gloom,
With fisted flying teeth and splintered shards of wooden spoon.
Feet dangling high above the floor,
as two meaty hands pin him to the door.
Yet in his mind he’s made of gold and believes he’s born to soar.
Reigning down upon him, with coffee stained teeth and cigarette breath.
Corner him, like some helpless prey ..frozen at the moment of its death.
With words of love she proceeds,
Until she finds exactly what she needs,
an innocent love, a beating heart, on which she ravenously feeds.
And Never is there space for pain,
as violent waves crash over again with a silent sad refrain:
Mommy’s little golden boy,
believing what he seems to feign,
that mommy loves him, and it won’t ever happen again.
Still what goes up… must come down,
and so this little boy comes to drown,
his laughter and his joy are buried deep in the cold, hard ground.
Yet not for nothing was the pain,
to learn to soar was still a gain.
Searching, striving to find again all that he had lost,
for deep inside he came to know that life goes on at any cost.
And somedays, there's a chuckle, or even a belly laugh,
and he deeply breaths the fresh forest air as he finds a new path.
- David Dybdal