The First Poem

This afternoon I was going through a box of old letters, cards, and keepsakes; waxing nostalgic, if you will. While going through an old Oreo tin of which has always held to most special of the letters, notes, etc, I came across a folded up piece of paper. I opened the note to find the very first poem that I ever wrote. I wrote this when I was in the 4th grade.

The Devil of Mercy 

I walk alone in the park at night

And the Devil of Mercy enters my sight.

I tremble and shake

As I feel the earth quake,

I’m filled with fright

As I am sucked into the deep, dark night.

The Devil of Mercy has not a care

As to what’s going on, when or where.

He deserves not a passion, but a cage to enclose

Tightly around his body, his shadow, his pose.

He does not live to his name,  it to what he believes

The world should be like, in its fearness and grieves.

I have one thing to say, and it shall be my last...

The fear in the world shall never quite pass.

I was 10 years old.

I asked Jason if he wanted to read the first poem I ever wrote and he said yes.

He read it and then folded it up and handed it back to me and said, “That’s a pretty dark poem sweetie.” I replied, “Yeah, it really is, isn’t it.”

I was 10.