In The Cold Field Poem by Mike Griffith

The hits keep coming,
Steady and strong.
Packing a wallop
The whole damn decade long.
This isn't a prize fight,
But a fight for my life.
How can a boy,
Once filled with promise,
And brimming with hope,
Have become so damaged,
So scarred,
And so alone?
The most recent deep bruise,
Perhaps never to heal,
Came yesterday in the field;
She spoke the terms clearly,
Succinctly - without doubt,
Informing me of her condition;
"A hardened heart, "
With ME as the cause.
Through a river of tears,
I asked 'WHY? ' to the field,
Other things I uttered,
Enveloped by sobs,
Would be unintelligible to all,
Excepting those mothers,
Who could never forget,
The sounds that they cried,
The moment being told,
Their only child had died.