Writing in the style of Kate Tempest
Clive’s 16,
Thrown into
to this labyrinth of life,
A modern day
Theseus.
But there’s
no thread for them,
To follow.
No Ariadne
waiting at the end.
Clive saw
every adult,
Every
teacher,
As a
Minotaur.
He had to
fight them.
Had to
return home with his white sail aloft.
Every day
was a battle of strength.
But this
life
It ain’t
fair.
For Clive,
there’s no heroes.
Only
monsters to fight.
He knows he
ain’t no angel
But he has
to do his part.
His anger
his sword and shield.
Burning hot
within.
His hoodie
is his armour,
No one
really sees ‘him.’
This world
that fathered him,
And fathered
us all,
Has done
nothing
But devour
us.
Like Kronos.
Clive’s got
no hope.
His nicked
blade won’t set him free,
No Zeus to
cut him out.
No comments:
Post a Comment