The Miracle

An AlphA poem is an alphabet poem that has no Rhyme or Meter.
You must Start and End each line with the same letter.
You must start with the letter A and end with Z, or a backwards run from Z to A.

The Miracle in Missouri refers to the case of two missing boys who were reunited with their parents on January 14th 2007. Shawn Hornbeck was last seen riding a bike just a few miles from his house in 2002 and Ben Ownby was last seen getting off the bus a week before they were found. Both boys were discovered in the same house alive and well, but with scars we will never be able to see.
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In honor of Shawn Hornbeck and Ben Ownby
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April showers, a bleary day while riding a
Bike bought by my father. Quiet streets in the suburb,
Counting the days until my birthday arrives. Catastrophic
Days are far from my mind. Thoughts of innocence soon denied.
Every good thing must come to an end, and so it was on that brisk eve.
Few miles from my home, not so far I assumed as eyes widen in disbelief,
Grabbing on to fading freedom. Cries go unheeded, pain digging, suffocating,
Hoarse cries buried in bitter cloth. Tears of regret fill my prison-like hearth.
Icy words and threats, his voice stings my flesh better than any cacti.
Joking and trying to be friendly, claiming we were going on a hadj.
Kissing me softly, shuddering in revulsion. Praying, dear Jesus kick
Life back into my boneless limbs and help me flee from this dismal
Meaningless existence. Days and nights speed into one, losing all momentum,
Never knowing if I’ll live to see another day. I prayed in devotion
Opening my heart to Him. Perhaps He will forgive me and I’ll make Him my hero.
Pulling all meager resources, my survival instincts skip
Questions. As the seasons change, so do I; saying I am now as tall as Shaq,
Reminiscent of days when dreams of playing basketball yesteryear
Surface to suffocate me again in this ironic twist of fate. As we watch games,
Television becomes my solace, watching my ‘disappearance’ under that
Umbrella of false security. Finally access to his internet and dusty CPU,
Victory is slowly achieved as I type my words of freedom, my necessary IV.
Willing faith to see me through these final hours. The sudden sirens through the window,
X-files playing on the tube. Doors bursting open, the four-year hex
Yielding to provide blessed daylight from my hours of darkness and insecurity.
Zeroing in to the tears that streak down my cheeks, the whole world now abuzz.



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National Center for Missing and Exploited Children  
24HR Hotline: 1-800-THE-LOST (U.S.)