Born at sunset, I am a child weaned from fallen breast before time. Son of a fertile ground But fed with thorns and thistles.
I can only watch the spoilers – They glut and yawn and leak their oily fingers. A seed, but I am taken to the mill; Flour for bread, a means to an end.
I am the child with the guns, A pawn on this chessboard of terror. A thorn in the flesh of many: I am horror – a harvest of many errors.
The spoilers ate sour grapes And my teeth is at edge. Brought to sunset before dawn, I am a child, a bandit, and a victim.
J. D. Jwang (The Child that Found Mercy)