thirtyfive

He laid eyes on the world for the first time in nineteen fifty-nine

The stench of a fly in his schnozzle

It was the norm for him, what a find

It was him; they talked about, Andrew Nozzle

He walked when he was eight

Afraid

Of life itself

Delve

Into the murder of his father

A creature of misdemeanour

Killed by a razor

With a dull razor.

One day he grew up to lead men

Into a world of hate,

‘Time to trust fate

Allen!’

They would shout

What did you do back then, creating the monster

That kills us tomorrow

The tears will flow like water down the river bed

The world of yesterday will die for the sake of what?

The beating of a child but now caused to kill the world...

You won’t understand now.

But tomorrow is too late.