A Boy Called Source

POEM

Black soul seen before birth

His eyes reflecting hell on earth.

Collecting the fire, collecting the pain

This boy called Source knew what to gain.

In this woman called Phoebe,

The lies that were laid,

She never knew she was played.

By a demon child, through and through,

The boy called Source knew just what to do.

Make her think, make her doubt,

Bring the darkness right back out.

See it play across her face,

All her working then erased,

All the good she had done,

She then saw become undone.

There was another just as swayed,

His true nature decayed.

A demon unlike the rest,

Put the Charmed Ones to the test.

But his love was no good,

Phoebe misunderstood,

For Cole could never do good.

The boy called Source knew what to do,

Even though it made him blue.

He stood for right,

And died without a fight.

A title he was given,

Of the unforgiven.

He was called Source,

A name so coarse and without remorse.