A boy with no name, no family, no care
Brought up to be the perfect weapon,
Known for his talents and his fair golden hair,
He thought life's pain to be the only lesson.
With rapier sharp wit and gleaming bright blade,
Hiding his agony with true skill and false spite;
Though doted upon and by the same iron fist betrayed
From his earliest memories he wished his heart to be malachite.
Smothering a kind heart and a gentle disposition
By growing in shadows and spilling much blood
Including his own, with a warlike ambition,
Cast into strife like a bird into mud.
Regardless of past pain ground to him by a man like a father,
Into Hell he shall cast him, but not without bother.
Okay, so that's my third sonnet about the Mortal Instruments characters. I really hope you liked it, and am sorry it took so long (I guess I had a gigantic case of writer's block). Any comments or input would be brilliant and greatly appreciated. Thanks!