Though I Walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

A poem of a childhood and a life foredoomed.

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Into this world I, too, was born

touched—was born with the hand of God

upon my crown; a son of scorn

who fled to the rich land of Nod,

a land of hope and the sweet corn,

of much to curse and much to laud.

Through angels, I witnessed white lightning

fall from the sky—saw its true power

in my small toddler's hands tightening!

But hatred was an evil flower

that ruined life's tender, harsh brightening

of my childhood's most fertile hour.

Oh, but alas! Alas! Dare I

catch a full glimpse of the Grim Reaper,

the angel of death who stooped by;

and up at its black shroud peer deeper,

at its face just before I die

as a pale-green, frozen, dead sleeper!?

By Ngoc Nguyen

From: United States