by Cortland Mccabe

Created on: December 10, 2008

"Silver Spoons"

Here I am again,
Standing above my fainted father.
His left arm is bleeding; a needle is by his side.
My screams of painic penetrate the air.
I fall to my knees and take his hand.
I beg the heavens not to let him die.
Now that I am grown,
I see everything the honest way in reality.
Furniture went out the front door.
My family's love was no more.
All in exchange, for a silver spoon on a chain.

Sharpest razors flooded his room.
Needles surrounded his bed.
Empty bottles stale of pain
Fell from his dresser, much like rain.
Who was this man?
No longer my father; a stranger.
I could no longer see myself in his eyes.
They were just too red.
All I could see was his misery.
His will to live was gone,
And it was all in exchange for a silver spoon on a chain.

Silver Spoons, they reflected pain.
They mirrored his life before his eyes.
Day by day, around his neck, he wore one like a cross.
Melted powder had become his religion.
Jesus Christ had a new name; heroine.
He did not die upon a cross,
But was burned to liquid on a silver spoon,
To satisfy the desires of a sinful man.

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