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Jan 2013
When we were children
Were we given
A pile of wooden blocks?
To help us count
Add up, take away,
Spell our name and scream it out.
To build and balance
As tall as possible a tower.
And when it fell over
Rebuild and rebalance.
But so many of us just
Threw the blocks at each other
And cried when one hit us
In the eye

When we were given the oceans and sky,
It wasn't long before we had
Ruined more than we had learned-
A continent of gnarled, congealed plastic
Floating in our graying heaven's reflection.
And given the forests,
We build either twelve-room-summer homes or else
So many million disposable chopsticks.
We grew up unlearning and grow old crying while
Our children ask us
Why? Why? Why?
Were you so selfish for so long?
Children, blocks,
don't come with instructions.
Bryan Dahl
Written by
Bryan Dahl  Chicago
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