Oh, my,
The rumble of children.
Here they come,
To force the change,
Free from restraints,
These adult,
Checks and balances,
Leaping and yelping,
As if life were enough.
How dare they,
Remind me,
Of passions,
And moments,
When green,
Was just green,
And the leaves,
Were no more.
No chlorophyl.
No structure.
No odd oxygen factory.
Simple beauty.
And wonder,
Which you could hold,
In your hand.
And those hands!
Ah, the mystery!
No bones,
And no tendons,
Which ache,
And grow weary,
While you write,
In desperation,
The haunting muse,
Of troubled hearts.
How dare they!
The monsters!
They lift,
The veil,
Behind which,
I hide,
With my adult,
Sensibilities.
So little, it seemed,
In days of old,
Was required,
Or needed …
A moment to run.
An hour to play;
Alive …
And innocent,
Of the horrid,
Putrid content;
Leave me be.
I implore you.
A moment longer.
Your wide, shining eyes,
Tell the tale,
I cannot face.
The long, weary miles,
Which I faced,
With conviction,
Were a ruse where every step,
Took me farther,
From myself.
Leave me be,
For a moment.
I was caught,
Unawares.
I ache,
In remorse,
And am caught here …
Wandering.
A moment …
Is all I ask,
Wherein I’ll find,
Adult,
Control.
They leave,
For I’ve frightened them.
Without a word,
Or a jest.
Not a man.
Not a monster.
But a spirit,
Which doesn’t smile.
They will go,
And remember,
The thing,
By the lake,
Which stared at the water,
And glanced at the trees.
How I pray,
Fickle fate,
For their fortune,
And happiness.
Bring them not,
To this place,
Eons from now.
Show them not,
The soft horrors,
Of dreams,
And hope listing.
Show them not,
The water,
And its chemical,
Equation.
Show them not,
The trees,
And the oxygen,
They manufacture.
Show them not,
That putrid core,
Which they share,
With all men.