Oct 7, 2014
This is in response to forgottenscript's poetry prompt for October 7th. Feel free to ignore it, except for Tyler.
I hear my children cry from below.
"Why?"
Why?
You think I chose this?
I created you, my children,Â
and cared for you.
I gave you a home and rules to follow.
But you've twisted everythingÂ
I've ever given you.
"Why?"
You've broken your worldÂ
and each other
and you want me to clean up your mess?
"Why?"
My children,
everyone has to grow up at some point.
"Father, why did you create us?"
Oh, my children,
did you never wonder
if I ask myself the same thing?
