The Children are Tired
As I dropped you off
the fake rock
plastic foundations of whispy dreams
clattering and slipping

The Children are Tired
as they grasp for my arm
Wary enough to ignore
I, too, rest on the ground
waving arms as they crash atop of me

The Children are Tired
as they scream at the lights
defeated again by flashing colours
While the bonds of blood
fade into an oblivion
of self-realized failures

The Children are Tired
as they shake off the dreams
of beseiged mental injections
and arise in the ashes of another's grave
and struggle clumsily
for their first-known home

The Children are tired
smiles drained shallow
as they cling to hugs
praying for the old deities
of love-play and warmth
but find cold calculation

"Whose temple did we stumble into?"
We cry in anguish
but while we were pushed
we were not dragged.

The monotonous shuffle of feet
lays claim to the knowledge

The Children are Tired.