This is going up late -due to tiredness.
Bit bleak, sorry.
A troubled lad. We never knew
He carried so much shame and dread.
But there was nothing we could do
We found his body on the bed.
Always alone, his Words are few
As he ignores the taunts and names
He knows the accusation’s true
It burns him up with frightened shame.
Because he knows that if he said
“You’re right” he is so sure he’d be
Thrown out. It rankles in his head:.
How could he tell his family?
They don’t suspect the reason, true,
But mum and dad can see his grief
He’ll tell them when he’s ready to.
They carry on in this belief
The letter that his parents read:
“I’m sorry, mum and dad. This way
Is better: let no tears be shed.
You’d never love love a son who’s gay.”
Tom Juniper Poetry 