Golden Boy
How could the Golden Boy with tufts of snow-white hair sink so deep in the clutch of her demand? His rascal head so fresh dandy laughs showing off a straight line of shining teeth to flounder at impure lads lesser kind Warding his earned religion walking over cars burning broomsticks in his mole-hole Freedom is his path but he was taken by his cocky adulthood Tears of remorse for the guilt of giving seeds taking kids on the promised road of no return Forever haunted by the quirks of free spirits with a spring in the limbs who lie so long in waiting for the birth of a clown Demanding claws so severe he had to pass and halt his son begging for more hits Family stretches long forgotten bouts of violence extending in the theatre of the working space The watered down fires of burned out teachers leaked in the pockets of soulless preachers fanning heads higher up encouraging adolescent rebels to smash each other’s faces Golden Boy lost freedom when his oystered world so fertile bend his back over a broken spirit lost in thought Clutches never ending hold still wishing darker gold on his infamous nose which he blows hard and loud to be heard Never totally revealing his true song that he plays once a year proudly when the masks are on Beer-boys running for a quick buck wave his dreams back in the cave where wall-paintings chip on the graves of the hunted ones forlorn remembering his golden stage in childhood Just in time the news reporter says it is all okay so that the boy can let the ‘how to live’ go
