Fact or Fiction...? You decide...

It started for him at twelve,
Nightmares that for him did not bode well,
Before sleeping he did of himself pleasure,
While he slept his bed became wet,
In the daytime with constant wood he did walk & sweat…

He grew taller that year & developed manly growths,
Of all this he didn’t understand; he had no one with which to talk,
His mother doting over him like he was still a baby,
His father distant & aloof, his work seemed more important,
His nightmares drove him to of others stalk…

He never destroyed another child’s mind,
Though he wanted more than its mind,
He desired its soul, its sexuality; he wanted it to be confined,
He wanted to play like he was younger again, without care or confusion,
His nightmares into his daily life an intrusion,
Through it he did exist but by all accounts he was much maligned…

Today as an adult he is fully grown,
Never did he fully achieve his desire to sit on a throne,
To be as he desired a king, a sovereign, a ruler, a dictator,
To rule over a world, to be of that world the creator,
Instead to himself & his progeny he has become a consummate traitor…
© -me- 1/8/15