Monster - A Poem by Moe

Rusted feathered claws as hands
Roams the desert, deserted lands
His eyes held low so he won't see
"All of these people looking at me"

His skin is thick but easy to tear
Charred and burned, uneasy to wear
Looks up to heaven as if to say
"Why, oh Lord have you made me this way?"

My touch is soft but can cause an infection
My voice will receive but is apt for rejection
My eyes can find love in the simplest of souls
But can also see ugly in those very same holes

My choices they vary from tender to flame
Blue, hazel or green, it's never the same
Built by blood and flesh from his bone
A child at heart in a man fully grown

Eager to fly and eager to rest
Eager to beat down the pain in his chest
That all his internals, from black go to white
And when it is dark, the colors made right

The lines in his hands are the same on his face
From hiding so much, these lines have found place
Now to form roads for tears yet to flow
This monster cries out...to let the world know

~Moses