Who am I, that I should stand
That I should speak as though I understand
That I should sing when words fail
That I should live to tell the tale
Who am I, that I should write
Of one beyond our mind and sight
Who am I, that He might save
When I should be the one in that grave
Who am I, that I should look on love
And feel him smiling from up above
Who am I, that I should gaze upon Him
Against whose radiance the sun is dim
In Him I find my identity, who I really am
A child of the king and a precious lamb

He calls us children and loves us the same
He knows us and calls us each by name
Who is He, that He should send His son to die
That He was earthly virtue personified
That He would serve and love and teach
That across the miles and years He would reach
That He would come again one day
Who sent His Spirit to us to stay
Who is He that considers me worthy
Who is He of endless grace and mercy
He is my everything: my beginning and my end
He is my strength and shield in whom I depend
He is mine and I am His
I am a child of Jesus!

Not too rushed
Timed to perfection
Esmee defies
accepted convention

Highly acclaimed
Deeply loved
Esmee embraces
a kiss and hugs

Deeply rooted
Highly adored
Esmee savours
her first long yawn

Her father's reach
Her mother's voice
Esmee combines
warmth and joy

In pride of place
At home at rest
Esmee sleeps
her family blessed

In this world, to gain success,
You have to start young.
Why?
Because grown-ups aren't that special, silly.

When a child draws a picture
It's more special that if an adult made it.
The younger you start, the more talented you seem
Even if it's not true.

As a child i wrote a story and was labeled "gifted".
Now if i wrote the same thing, i would be a degenerate.
Your skills are supposed to grow along with your age.
So this is why you have to start young,
To be valid at least for a while.

It was once clean
Filled with clear rain water
Mirroring your reflection
People not noticing its beauty
Stomped on it

Corrupted it with their shoes
The clear puddle was now brown
And *****
Small children wanted to play with it
But their mothers refused, as it was too filthy

But weren't they the reason the puddle was *****?
The children haven't done anything wrong
Yet they blame someone else
For what they have not done

And the puddle was left alone
Sad
With no one to admire it
And slowly but surely
It evaporated
Only to be replaced over and over again

All adults were once children
There are no exceptions
And that's what's truly heartbreaking
Villians are made, not born
At least not always

Every angsty drug dealer
Every teacher
Every depressed poet
Every grave

When you see a homeless person
Do you ever wonder what their life has been before?
They were just a child
With hope
Hope which died along with their innocence

Evening
A small child walking through the almost empty streets
You know this child very well
Or at least you think so
The child always wears long sleeves
Losing their happiness along with their youth

A child with dead eyes
A child with the stare of an adult
Yet a weak personality
That could be crushed with a single word

They used to be the happiest child in the classroom
Yet now they sit alone
A freak to the society
Because they're different

Maybe being different is bad sometimes

Stay a child, then you

can fall asleep like a prince --


on a stranger's lap.