~*^v^*~
that day another life was born
a mother had a child
a son who found another's end
of living free and wild
among the trees, below the sky
she guided him to youth
she taught the ways of life and slowly
led him to the truth
she spoke to him one starlit night
whispered, "Now learn, my son,
if ever the death-ball you see,
wait not for me, but RUN."
And "Why?" he asked that starlit night,
wondered, "Why should I run?"
"Inside that ball is war," she said,
"and slavery, my son."
"You cannot know the freedom that
those thieves of life have taken-
the nightmare is upon us all,
and no one can awaken."
the child hardly understood
the meaning of her anger
and wanted never again to hear
such warnings of such danger
but soon the words she'd said to him
were coming all too true
a trainer stood with greedy eyes--
"Wartortle! I choose YOU!"
the death-ball flew towards his face
he was too scared to flee
a bolt of blood-red lightning flashed,
there stood his enemy.
he looked into the empty eyes
of the willing prisoner
he heard his mother's words again
and longed so much for her
how right she'd been, that soulless face
held him frozen with fright
the trainer saw the opportunity:
"Wartortle, BITE!"
a growl, a flash of teeth, and then
a moment of pure pain
that left a line across his throat
and it bled ruby rain
his mind was slowly fading
with each shattering attack
the trainer's slave was merciless
and beat him red and black
then finally, "Wartortle, stop!"
and the boy leaned back to throw,
pulled from his belt, a death-ball
and he cried, "Pokéball, GO!"
so beaten, bashed, and weakened
he had no strength to run
but then his mother leaped between
the trainer and her son.
The death-ball fell onto the ground
its smooth, round jaws were closed
she stared with all her hatred at
the boy she now opposed
Her eyes were blazing fire and ice
as the the trainer seemed struck dumb
in words of strength controlled by love
she told why she had come.
"I will not let you take him,
you won't finish what you've done--
but I will take his place instead,
if you will spare my son."
the boy would never understand
what she had offered him,
she would not see her son be caught,
so though the choice was grim,
she freely gave her freedom
that her son might someday make it--
the offer stood; and as he would,
the boy chose to take it.
he left the woods rejoicing,
but her son could only cry
his mother's very soul, no more...
he felt he'd seen her die.
That day another life was won,
if victory it was
for no one understands it
quite the way that her son does
he sees it not as glory
but a war upon the free...
he sees it as it truly is,
and may it never be.
