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Apoorva May 2017
I don't fear death
But I fear life
And the agony that follow
Like an amorphous shadow
There's no escape from this hell,my friend
Unheeded we all die alone
With a crooked smile on the lips
Beneath this summer moon
The soft gentle wind croon
Broken promises of see you soon
.
We fear and hate the happy ones
Bliss is a forgotten friend
And we lie and lie and lie
Till it resembles to the truth
Experience comes at a price
Which is so godmann high
We trade our innocence
And sell our souls to survive
Surrendering to the fears we thrive
And those fragile feelings we hive
.
And the children are insane
For they dance naked in the rain
Being blind to their personal gain
They don't feel fear nor the pain
And the children are insane
Josh Jul 2014
Life started; my ear to your heart.
I heard life growing, but you grew up too fast.
Knowing so many things--
You decorated your parents in the sweet laughter you brought
and still bring.

I feel connected to you through the rhythm of your heart.
You fought to start -- sought your own part in life,
though you couldn't do it unsupported.
Your requited love has grown, and plays on our souls in the happiness we've known.

You dance. You sing.
You've arrived. Alive and kicking.

My everything.  

My reward: little socks, conversations with playful teddy bears, square blocks, and good food eaten in highchairs. Knocks on the head each day.
Your love of monsters and animals, and the funny things you have said
and still say.

Kisses. Hugs. Pokes in the ribs. Tears and giggles.
The fear of closed doors, but a big fan of pigs!  

Little hands. Curly hair.
I think about you everywhere.

Your first walk. The shock of unknowing.
Our open arms and your gradual growth into them,
and growth into knowing.

Now, safe and warm, blankets and toys -- I watch you sleep flawlessly unspoiled.  

I watch and need this growing piece of me; my future seed. This all-seeing, bright eyed and innocent being -- I see so many parts of me in him.

Little socks -- and lots and lots of tickles and curly golden locks and you're the best thing I've ever seen.

It is you, dear boy, I understand.
I love to hold your little hands.
And make you laugh, and hear you talk;
That way you can't say ''box''.
But most of all I just love you.
You and your little socks.
Written for my 3 year old son.

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