The Child Who Broke Things - For Bully Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

His father saw him
as a naughty child,
as wilful as a whim,
recalcitrant and wild.

He broke his word
and windows and curfews,
the wings of birds,
his mother’s heart too.

All she ever saw
was anger grow
loud and red and raw
as lava flow.

Till in the end he took apart
the living pump
that was his heart:
removed its gasping thump.

But none could see
that deep inside
where soundlessly
he lived after he died.

Where nothing remained
for him to break. Where all around
a perfect stillness reigned
as it would later under ground.