Fall From Grace

A child of promise,
With blonde hair & blue eyes.
At the age of five,
Was plucked from grace.

The boys stole his soul,
Paralysed him within.
From angelic smile,
To corrupt scowl of hate.

Now he just sits & stares,
Into the heavens,
A curse upon himself,
Toiling with his push from grace.

He asks 'why me?'
He never gets an answer.
A test of faith?
A realisation?

The serpent listens,
Speaks, trusts.
Spurns him on,
To do the hellish things he wishes.

The boy sits now,
Writing this thaught.
Toiling with his push from grace.

From angelic smile,
To a sick twist of fate.