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The Virtues of Childhood

A poem

By terryamericanPublished 2 years ago 1 min read
The Virtues of Childhood
Photo by Jerry Wang on Unsplash

Children to men,

Diapers to jobs,

Innocence to sin,

And we wonder why we're lost.

The blooming flower is holy

in the early morning light.

But the essence we remember

is lost within the night.

The world always pushes, pushes, while we shove.

Acting upon impulse now.

And forgetting how to love.

Cry, oh, cry. For the sake of all the youth.

Because by 25 you forget who was you.

Friends turn to memories,

memories turn to dust,

dust turns into thoughts of money, drugs, not love, but lust.

Children to men,

Birth to death.

The cycle is infinite in a world full of regrets.

The blooming flower is holy

in the early morning light.

Lo, the flower wilted and died before it experienced life.

The world will keep spinning, spinning while we walk

Straight into our failures.

Crying while we're mocked.

Cry, oh god. Cry for what we miss.

Cry for the millions who live their life just like this.

What happened to those happy thoughts?

What happened to those sappy plots

Of running through the suburb with fake guns, chasing robbers, being cops.

Children to men.

Christ to cross.

Only you can recover all the joy that you’ve lost.

So with that, I will leave.

I will walk upon this globe.

Crying to myself,

Doing exactly what I'm told.

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About the Creator


me write. me like books.

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