2015 – 6th Grade National 3rd Place Winner

Maia Erbes, Minnesota.

The forgotten monster and the failed protector

A long, long, time ago, a creature formed in the depth of darkness,
in the abysmal abyss of hate.
This creature was Violence.

Violence, the forgotten monster,
hidden in hatred,
to grow and to slaughter,
we thought we were safe,
thought it was locked up tight,
thought we could sleep,
soundly at night,
thought that compassion,
would always protect us,
but oh, how wrong we were.

Compassion it tries,
to hide Violence away,
where it will never be found,
but alas, Violence always escapes,
to return,
and sulk,
back underground.

Poisoning the soil,
and poisoning the roots,
the trees grow gnarled,
the flowers wilt,
like planting hemlock,
at the base of a well,
the waters poisoned,
as are the drinkers,
lost in abyss,
forever unknowing,
that something’s amiss.

Forgotten and hidden away,
an evil lurks,
deep underground,
it says not a word,
it makes not a sound,
but poisons our roots,
from deep underground.

When left alone,
it moans and groans,
skulking, and stalking,
it paces below,
plotting and rotting,
its seeds have been sown,
tenderly cared for,
they vilely grow.

It has been a while,
since Violence escaped,
yet it still remains uncaptured,
so Violence it walks, with a swinging gate,
for it knows that it can not be touched,
it knows that it can not be tainted,
and so it walks boldly, still unafraid,
Compassion gave orders, Violence disobeyed.

Tucked away in the back of our heads,
it stabbed us and stabbed us,
while we unknowingly bled,
as all that compassion,
leaked out of our heads.

Violence, and compassion,
violence and compassion,
black and white,
dark and light,
wrong and right,
day and night,
compassion is meaningless without violence,
violence is meaningless without compassion,
without violence, we can not be compassionate,
if no ones been treated wrongly,
but without compassion, we can still be violent,
it’s true, however sadly.

The world is strong, and fights Violence with tooth and nail,
but if Violence is the hunter, societies the quail.
Violence works slowly, and to it a million years is but the blink of an eye,
so it chips away at us, no one knows why,
it finds ways to fill our heads slowly, with tales and lies.

Compassion feebly tries,
to pull a wall over our eyes,
to show us that it’s alright,
but we’re not fooled for a moment,
and we see right though its lies,
for despite Compassion’s tries to fight it,
we know that Violence is free.

Society is like a piece of cloth,
forever torn by Violence,
and however Compassion tries to sew it up,
the trips just keep on tearing,
like a broken clay pot,
it can be glued,
but it will always be cracked and chipped,
like carving away,
at the trunk of a tree,
the scars will always show.




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