Eyes of Ice - HP poem - PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: Eyes of Ice
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: not my characters.  just for fun.
Warnings: child abuse
Pairings: none
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 500
Point of view: third
Notes: written pre-OotP and HBP

it was easy to fall,
and he smiled as he did—
he had tried out his wings
of silver and ice;
he had leaped, nearly flew;
but he was so weak,
and his wings so new.

after years of turmoil and strife, 
in this sad little life,
he had tried to escape,
expecting failure,
and like always he was right.
he laughed as he fell,
as his never-healed wings shattered and tore;
as his breaths came in gasps,
and he sailed to his doom with laughter and wails.

‘the road to Hell is paved with good intentions’ 
they told him and his road was paved with jewels.
he had tried to do right,
but he never could,
because everything he touched fell apart.
he hid his hurt and his rage
beneath his mask of perfection;
he was flawless, faultless,
too good to be true—
hidden below darkness and ice,
his tears froze in the ebony nights.

he walked about the day, 
lying with laughter and sneers,
smiling with malice and jeers;
not one of them knew,
and none of them cared,
about the soul-scars and the tears.
none of them knew of the broken peace,
and screams torn from a bleeding throat—
and none of them would care if they did.
to them he is only his father’s son,
and can never prove otherwise.
so he lies all the time trying to survive;
trying to escape his past, striving to have his own life.

his world is in pieces, 
shredded by rage and
pain lashing out with howls of hate.
here in this hole of life,
he lay waiting for the fate he knew he deserved,
the fate he knew he had earned
in all his days of play-acting a part,
being a puppet,
parroting things he had never believed—
and never would.
he laughs at his broken existence,
and broken wings,
knowing he can never escape.
he is his mask after all,
no one else,
just a façade;
just smiles and laughter,
and frozen tears on a cold winter’s night,
screaming to be free,
begging for a thing that will never be.

he is in a cage, 
gilded, but a cage all the same.
he has been locked there all his life,
and he shall never escape.
he wishes for the door to open—
but even if it did he knows he would not leave.
what would he do with freedom anyway?
this is the hand he was given,
chains and walls, masks and charades;
he will never have another,
so he’ll make do.

he cried again the other day; 
it seems he always is.
crying for the life that isn’t his.
crying for those who do not know.
crying for where he’ll go when he dies.
crying for the things he never was.
crying for those he’s killed with his lies.

tarnished silver, 
flawless light—
pain hidden behind eyes of ice.