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Innocence is beauty, Innocence is rare;
Innocence is a wonderful thing to share.
Innocence is graceful, Innocence is elegant;
Innocence is the enchanting music the angels chant.

Innocence is what makes an adult from a child,
Innocence is where we came from before going wild.
Innocence is carefree and is not confined;
Innocence is sin-free, heart, body and mind.

Innocence is not ignorance nor naive,
Innocence is true and shouldn't be deceived.
Innocence is honesty, pure and white.
Innocence is unstained, the light of the night.

Innocence is worthless once it is gone,
Innocence is a gift given by One to one.
Innocence is cared for and cherished,
Innocence once given will fade away and perish.


Innocence is a treasure indescribable by literature,
Innocence is a word out of art and science, past or future.
Innocence is love, or so we thought before;
When innocence was with someone we don't even know anymore...
wordsbywords.blogspot.com
Michael DeVoe Aug 2009
She sat on a park bench crying at the moon
Because that's what wolves do
And wolves were a lot closer to her than family
He lied under a park bench
And spoke to the ants
Because ants were more like friends than any friends he'd ever had
And once upon a time
These two were children full of innocence
Full of vigor and life ready for anything
Like anything was the everything they did everyday
And this is an ode to lost innocence
But I'm not sure he's lost
We may have just forgotten where to find him
Or maybe he forgot where he lives
And right now he's wandering the streets
Finding refuge in anyone willing to dream when the sun is out
Our children are seeing things like they live in the third world
They're spending their days providing
For families their fathers left them
Watching gun shots count for the census
Seeing thriving turn in to surviving
And surviving turning in to not even worth it anymore
Our mothers can't afford gifts for Christmas
And sometimes they can't even buy their kids imagination for breakfast
We have kids knowing their **** hands
Before their clock hands
Surprising their math teachers
With their extraordinary knowledge of ounces and grams
Innocence has been gone for a while
So I put up missing posters on the same telephone poles
Those once innocent children sell themselves on
I place fliers in the newspapers
The teenagers are rolling their **** in
I'm searching for him everywhere
And I'm starting to believe he's nowhere
Then I see an old man
Who's been through his share of this war
Looking at a painting with eyes I once had
Admiring the image, not the brush strokes
Loving the feeling it provokes
Not the conflict it's trying to resolve
And I see in him the innocence that's lost
But it doesn't stay long
His cell phone rings and he hunches over
As if no matter who it is, it's the real world
And the weight of that is crushing him
So I crawl under the same park bench
And pray to the same moon
The young woman cried to
And I ask the man in the moon to save us
To use his huge eyes to find the innocence
And put it back in talking to ants
And howling at the moon
Convince them to leave the straight jackets
In empty padded rooms
And let the children we were
We are
We never got the chance to be
Run free
This is an ode to lost innocence
To lighters and cigarettes in the lost and found
To Anti Depressants in the nurses office
And Ex-Lax in the girls bathroom
They used to have four square and hopscotch courts
Now the only chalk on sidewalks is outlining a corpse
Explaining to our kids about pregnancy and STD's
Before we teach them the infield fly rule
This is an ode to the innocence that ran away
Because maybe he's not lost at all
Maybe he's just sick and tired of being ripped out of people
Of being ***** out of young girls
Beaten out of young children
Shot out of young boys
Maybe innocence just got tired of being taken for granted
About not being loved like poets used to love him
You don't see his name in too many hip hop songs
And I haven't heard a poem in a while to call his praise
Maybe he left to go try and find somewhere
He can be loved like he used to be
He could be courting aliens
Or wooing dolphins
Because it's clear we don't care about him anymore
That innocence got lost without us noticing
So why would we notice if he came back
So why should he come back
This is an ode innocence's last name
Children
This is an ode to lost innocence
The cops came and took her away
And before her head was tucked into the car
She howled one last time at the moon
And from my balcony as loud as my lungs could let me
I howled back
And the next day I crawled under a park bench and talked to ants
A week later I found myself howling at the moon
Because it seemed the whole block
Caught a case of insomnia the day they arrested the wolf lady
This is an ode to lost innocence
Please come home, our children need you
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
thrcy Nov 2014
I never thought someone
A girl at the age of 16
Could be filled with so much sadness
Her blood type "D" which stands for depression
Eyes that are bloodshot
Eyes that are filled with a lot of regret
Eyes that has lost hope in everything
Eyes with crushed dreams
Her eyes are so beautiful that used to be filled with happiness
Her eyes heavier than the baggage she carries
But her thoughts are heavier
But she makes an excuse saying she's fine
But she can't escape the thoughts she has on her mind
She smiles away her pain
No one knows that nothing can keep her sane
And she tries
She tries so hard
But she can't go back
Can't go back to who she was before

She had lost her innocence
She lost her innocence when her own father asked her to try & lit a cigarette on her own
And she did
She smoked away her problems
She lost her innocence when skipping one class wasn't such a big deal until it became a habit of doing it everyday
She lost her innocence when the positive attitude she had in life got poisoned by the negative thoughts that her ex best friend had & so it rubbed off on her & now all she got is this negative mentality
For every time she breathes, she breathes in the pessimistic air that had consumed her lungs & gotten to her brain
She lost her innocence when she let herself got attached to people, only for them to walk away
She lost her innocence when taking pills were the only thing that could make her happy
She lost her innocence when she puts her guard down, only for her heart to get broken
She lost her innocence when she let herself fall deeply
She lost her innocence when she tried to fix someone else, that led her to self destruction
She lost her innocence when she first tried alcohol to forget about him, and ***** tasted the same as his lips, tasted like an addiction, habit, and full of regret
She lost her innocence when she first had drugs and it tasted like things were finally going back to normal for once in her life
She lost her innocence when she sent pictures of her body to a boy, to make herself feel better by the compliments he told her
She lost her innocence when she gave everything to him & she let him touch the other parts of her body, to keep him satisfied, happy, & so that he wouldn't leave her
She lost her innocence when she broke her own rules just for him

But she was long gone
Physically alive, but mentally dead
Everything falling apart all at once
Crashing down on her & a person can only take so much pain
And she didn't know what to do & how to make it stop
She didn't know how to stop loving someone who didn't love her anymore
She didn't know how to make her parents stop yelling & fighting from the unpaid bills & she couldn't make her father stop smoking to stop spending all the money on cigarettes, while her mother does all the job
She didn't know how to deal with a goodbye she never got
She didn't know that within a year she could lose someone that meant the world to her
She didn't know that she lost herself too, that a person was able to take her heart & happiness with them
She didn't know that you could meet the love of your life, but doesn't mean you end up with them
She didn't know until now that she was never good enough & is easily replaced
She didn't know she'd be awake in the middle of the night at 16, missing someone that she gave everything to, only to have her efforts wasted
She didn't know that saying "I'm fine" could make others believe her & they did, when she really wasn't

It never occurred to me
An inflicted pain could cause this much damage to one individual
That one person has this much impact to another
That they could have this much power to make you feel like this
That these things could actually happen to her
That her so called best friend would turn back on her & make her feel worthless
That her own parents were fed up & tired of her behavior & eventually she started to believe to the things they made her feel
That no matter how hard she tries
It just won't be the same anymore
A smile is a broken heart ,hiding a perfect storm.
A laugh is a volcano, waiting to erupt.
A wink is a tear, trying not to escape.

But her innocence was depleted, and that is no mistake.

Innocence is precious, innocence is sweet.
Innocence doesn't lie, nor does it weep.
Innocence is perfect, innocent is pure.
But they took it away when they made her a toy.

Innocence was depleted, and that's not a joy.

A girl is a masterpiece, waiting for her mate.
A girl is a gift from God, waiting for her perfect take.
A girl is a surprise, ecstatic at the least.
But who knew such a girl, could be damaged to a beast.

Innocence was depleted, and that was a beast.

A beast who stole it.
A beast who sold it.
A beast who lied, and covered it.

Innocence was taken but never uncovered.

Innocence...a word with no meaning.
Innocence...a word with all treason.
Innocence...a word with a depleted reason.
Sean Hastings Sep 2015
Innocence is one of the strongest things
Especially when it’s with a small child
That innocence of looking at the world
And seeing the good, the beauty, the love
There are times when I still wish I had this
Not because I grew up, no nothing like that
I had my innocence destroyed when I was small
I was introduced to the harsh reality of what life
Really is, not that beautiful place filled with love
But a terrible place filled with misery, hate and violence
So I grew up looking more harshly at things, looking
For the faults, looking for the hate behind everything
The innocence makes you think the world is only
Filled with sheep, but the harsh reality is that there
Are terrible wolves filled with evil bloodlust to destroy
The very innocence we have
I looked for the sheep and soon realized that the wolves are
Everywhere. But little I could do right now about it
All I can do is try to protect the innocence because
That’s one of the strongest things in life
And as I look down at her face with her huge carefree
Smile back at me all I can think is that innocence is
Blissful to have. But there’s another thought as I look
At her, is what if she has it destroyed like me? Because
The one thing stronger than innocence is
The destruction that leads to the driving force to become
Stronger than the evil wolves and to protect the sheep
Elizabeth Ann Oct 2013
Innocence isn't just a
Thought
Theory
Feeling
State of Mind
Age
Lack of Knowledge
Purity
Cleanliness
Innocence is more
So much more
Than I ever believed it was
Or could be

I grew up
Maybe a little too fast
And all at once
And where I once was
Innocent
Innocent
Innocent
My mind grew
And expanded
And now I know
Of many many things
I wish I didn't
And no longer am I
Innocent
Innocent
Innocent
But I lack the
Thought
Theory
Feeling
State of Mind
Age
Lack of Knowledge
Purity
Cleanliness
Of
Innocence
That I yearn to have once again
But will never have again
Because once Innocence is lost
It cannot be found
Ever
Again
And you are forced
To sit
And see
And observe
The innocence around you
And mourn over
Your very own
Innocence
Which
Is
Long long
Gone.
Nicole Dawn May 2015
I see flowers blooming,
And bees buzzing,
And I think,
Innocence

I watch you run around
Barefoot,
Because you don't like socks,
And I think,
Innocence

I laugh as my dog,
Leaps in the lake,
Without a care in the world,
And I think,
Innocence

I smile at your excitement,
In the little things,
Because at your age,
Everything is exciting,
And I think,
Innocence

I sit and watch the world go by,
And I know
The world has lost it's innocence.
But as I see these little things,
I think,
Innocence

And I know,
Not all has been lost.
Babygirl Oct 2014
She was 11 when she first realized 'No' doesn't mean no.
It means go ahead, i want you to, go.
She laid there, silent, though her mind was screaming.
She thought maybe she was dreaming.
She was already starting to feel the claws of depression in her veins.
Now he was taking her soul away in chains.

Say no, push him away, do something, he can't do this to you.
She thought, but her mind wasn't sure of what to do.
He is hurting you, stealing your innocence, make him stop!
No, you can't, he will hurt your family if you tell a cop.
Legs spread wide as he takes the one thing she held tightly to.
She tried to close them, he would only force them wider what is she to do?

Stolen innocence is not all he took from her that night.
He took away her ability to fight.
She held it all inside, and she longed to forget..and for a while she had.
She was trying so hard to be happy and forget the sad.
She was livin, but then came the monster..and he had a different plan.
She was all alone left to deal with the beast who was not a fan.

He wasn't the only one who had come to hurt her in that way.
It wasn't the same though, because she wanted it, that's what he would say.
How could she tell him no, he was her boyfriend..
She tried to tell him no as he pried her legs apart, this was the end.
He told her he loved her, he told her, he would never hurt her, but he was.
And soon she closed her eyes and it was all just fuzz.

When he finished, he held her, told her she was his one and only.
But if this is true why does her hurt her...make her feel lonely?
You don't hurt the one you love, not intentionally, cause that's not love.
She was a play thing to hide his dark side; a mask and glove.
He never listened as she would plea, he would only whisper a rough 'I love you.'
She wasn't sure what love was anymore, he took away her innocence too.

Now she is older and all she has done is let men use her body as their own.
She just lay's back and every once in a while lets out a moan.
She still whispers 'No' but they never stop, never hear her pleading.
She is so shattered with one touch you are bleeding.
She tries to pick up the razor edged pieces of herself.
She tried to hide the memories behind a picture on a far off shelf..

All she can do is cry, when he leaves her all alone, she falls apart.
She wishes she could go back to the start.
She tries so hard to change, to stop letting her body not be her own...
Stolen innocence is love, I mean that's what they told her when they were alone.
She longs so much to feel love, real love.
The kind where your heart soars high above..

The only thing she gets any feeling from is the razor she drags deep into her skin.
She does this in order to rid her body of their sin.
She bleeds the screams of a silent mouth, she bleeds the please of a little girl.
She loses consciousness and for once she is at peace, she is back to a little girl.
She knows the way to end the pain he gave her, the burden she bares.
She will end all, now no one will give her those disproving stares..

No one knows the pain she was really in, and now they never will.
If they knew they would understand the power they had to make her ****...
She tried to tell you with the cuts on her wrist...
You just thought she was crazy; darkness kissed.
She cuts the words stolen innocence into her arms.
Maybe you will all see past his charms.

She lays in the puddle of her own stolen innocence as it takes away her choice.
She tried to tell you, she just didn't use her voice.
She begged you to ask her one question..but you never did.
She knew from that moment she would be a troubled kid.
She tried so hard to keep it together, but with every touch, and every hug.
She could feel his arms and hands, like a massive bug.

She lay bleeding the words she couldn't get out of her mouth, though she tried.
She knew no one would listen, not until she died.
So she wore a letter, she explained all she had been through..
And how the pain and the monster just grew and grew.
She never wanted to be so troubled, she never wanted to make your life hard.
But you never once asked why she was always on guard.

You should have listened to the blood flowing from her veins.
You should have seen the way **** held her in its chains.
You should have seen your baby girl change from happy to ice cold.
You should have seen the way he would touch her, or even the way he would hold..
You never wanted to see the pain, you never wanted to know.
So she took the choice into her own hands and her choice was to go..
Evynne Apr 2013
Just like love, just like how you know life
With your heart beating and your eyes big with wonder and awe
You want to feel each day slip away as you long to get closer to death
For death seems to be the only logical escape
The way you view the world, there is too much evil, too many horrible things going on
Not enough goodness, no justice
You long to possess the right to inform people about how mankind has managed to lose its soul and fervor to pain, hurt, evil
Evolving in all of the wrongs ways, developing all the wrong ideals
You try to say the words right, try to make them coherent
And at night you think and think
And in your mind, things look so little but so unattainable

You are a spirit of light
Your left hand longs to be held by another's right hand
Your face longs to be caressed, to be admired and remembered
You need some reason to keep on living
For on your own, you are just waiting for death to sweep you off your feet and take you away
It is the only thing that seems to feel right
The only thing that really makes sense to you

You choose to remain in your thoughts and in your head
For it is a good place to be
You can smile a new smile, take your hands and dig them deep within the sun and the moon
You can hold the universe and maybe even restore the hope that was once present and flourishing within you
But once you must leave your mind and your dreams and your thoughts
You slowly and begrudgingly come back to reality and your stomach falls to your feet as you hear the pangs of the outside world coming back alive inside of you
You ponder the concept of the word "home" and remember an old body that you used to seek safety in
Cold and dark tears contemplate falling and you wish to live in the sky, gone from the world, slipping away in your dreams, leaving behind the dreadful drone of your own existence
You ache to be left alone in your thoughts
Your mind travels back to the days that once consisted of innocence and simplicity
So alluring and true
Tangible
Withholding pure and utter bliss
Now, so unattainable and distant
Forever gone

You try to stop your mind from traveling further but you think about the person you used to be, the girl you once knew
Her lips are now forever gasping for more and more air and the feeling of fear is hard and sharp in her heart that is broken beyond repair
You long for better days, for better things to come to you
But there is something dark and black that rests deep within you and you cannot live a moment without noticing its lurking presence
You long to be free of it
But death is so far away and sleep is only temporary
Your eyes are open but there's a path behind them compiled of pasts years that you continuously walk day after day after day
And they don't taste sweet and your breath is trapped within you, making it seem as if blood tastes better than this
And once again, death and truth seem attainable but so very, very out of reach

The weather is gloomy and rain is falling from the clouds above
You stand and let the rain kiss every inch of your warm and tingling flesh and you feel happy as you turn with the wind and taste the raindrops on your lips
Your heart is red with fire and warmth, beating graciously as you believe each and every raindrop is a healing kiss to your troubled and aching soul
Times of hate and despair trickle down your body with the rain and you feel both dead and alive all at once, waiting for something other than hurt and emptiness to be your dearest friend, waiting for the loneliness that swims through your veins to go looking for someone else to invade with its poisonous ways
The rain is trying to help but the loneliness was there before the rain ever existed and it cannot die inside of you
For it is very much alive as it stands in the room behind your ribcage, holding out its arms, loudening its voice today and every day, this morning and every morning, until it is eventually noticed tonight and every night
With its feet imbedded to the floor of your body and your bones, forever attempting to taint the beauty of your soul
You try to forget, but instead you understand
You lay in bed and it all feels so real as you look desperately to the stars
The same stars you have been looking to and wishing on ever since you were a small child
And you recall the first time you ever saw a star, still so full of innocence and ambition and wonder
But innocence isn't a permanent friend like loneliness which lies at the door to your heart
Innocence is forced to change its shape until it disintegrates all together
Just as you have sat and watched the stars for all these years, you sat and watched your innocence slowly fade away with age and the progression of life and time
Then comes the wonder of the beloved memories when you still possessed that innocence and its hurts and everything seems lonely once more
So you write as you look to the moon and the earth and the song they sing each night
And even though you have grown accustomed to the darkness
You are sure it was once was something that took too frequently and took too soon until it became a friend instead of an enemy
Because what other choice did you have other than to form an alliance with it?
And soon enough the words flowed from your fingers and nothing mattered as long as you could write and feel something, whether it was the pain from under a razor blade or the earth beneath your feet or the taste of wine on your tongue
It was still something

Oh little miss silence, the quiet and unnoticed observer
Seen by no one, your head high in the clouds as you continuously demand the reason for why you are living
You lay and wait for the great and warm sea to scoop you up and break you apart until you are nothing but particles floating about, forming other unknown entities
But people lie and we are all terrible human beings
Spiteful and cold
Critical
Deceiving
Although you have always felt different from the rest, small and everything less than perfect
Always thinking thoroughly, slowly, deeply
Always acting as a caretaker to others and their wants, and needs, and feelings
You discovered at a very young age that helping others makes your heart dance and that fighting for those who are in need is of utmost importance
You always speak so softly because your efforts are never enough to change anyone or anything
You are kind when others are mean, strong when others are weak
Every single night you lay your head down to sleep and pray and pray for better things and better people to reign, just as you did every single night as a child
But things get harder as youth diminishes
And once it finally leaves, you find that you are the person you'd never thought you'd become
And knowing that is extremely painful
It is a constant, stabbing feeling

You look for peace, talk of it, listen for it
Longing to make your insides bright again
Searching for a reason to keep on living
But your mouth is locked shut and you hide with the trees and hold dear true laughter and listen to the music in everything as you see reality through one set of eyes, and the world within your mind, through another
You feel sorry as you look for some person or some place to build a home
And you long to grow with the trees that will rest beside it and to float with the clouds that will rest above it
A world to live and breathe comfortably in is all that you long for
But you are living in hell as this world is the farthest thing from comfortable
You lay beneath the sky and ache and ache as you listen to the voices that sing above you
And you feel apart from everything and the sad feelings surface once more and you try and try to escape but instead more things wake inside of you and walls build up and around you until your story is just another poem you will write in the future

You watch the tree from your window and try to remember what you felt like before you lost everything
Meg Howell Jan 2015
A child's innocence is what I long for
Instead of worrying at every door

A child's innocence is what I long for
To feed my imagination with things worth more

A child's innocence is what I long for
To stop and be at peace for one second, sure

A child's innocence is what I long for
To play a teacher or doctor and find a cure
for this messed up world
with ups and downs
A child's innocence is what I long for
shashank karn Jul 2017
MY CRYING LIFE


What a sorrowful life that I own ,
what a trap of innocence in which i got caught,
this is my life in which i don't get anything except crying,
when i got happiness from my loved one, then some one came to make me like a crying dog,
everybody started neglecting me,
there were many people who didn't liked me, and there were also many people who always tried to beat me,
these were some effects of my innocence, that was the innocence that lead me to cry, someone was there who always praised me in my failure,
these were only the story of my childhood but the story continued,
in my contained innocence others blamed me for their black deeds,
someone thought me as a useless fellow, someone thought me as a hardworking guy, someone beated me by thinking me as a powerless one,
then i thought how fast i passed that period, in some of precious period of my life,
i found many people showing to love me,
but i again found some of my very near avoiding me and trying to insult me,
but when sorrowness came in my life then that period became like a year,
when my bad period passed then i found only some left period,
to get refreshment i thought to do some journey,
but to make me cry again someone came, that person always insulted me when saw me happy,
but in my still innocence i didn't did any thing,
that happiness became the worst period of my life,
i again cried a lot from my heart,
but in my still innocence i wasn't able to reveal my feeling,
someone cared me but someone insulted and neglected me,
but when i got a little knowledge than a question came in my mind,
"were they doing so because of less position of my father,
" or "were they doing so to only insult me,"
or "was that a racial discrimination, "
or "was that the thinking of my still innocence,"
thinking so again i cried and cried from my heart,
i always shared all my things with all,
but i don't know why they don't,
why don't the others understood me,
why even they don't try to make me happy, there was someone who gave me all small things to me,
but they were also that person who never tried to give me the things that i wanted from heart,
many people beated me,
but i never cried,
i cried a lot from my heart again,
but not of reason that people beated me,
i cried in my still innocence of questions, "that why they beated me,"
everybody teased my brain,
they always told me dull,
but non of them asked me why are you so,
in all suffering of my life i thought to die,
i wasn't able to collect courage to die,
and again my mind questioned,
"was that the effect of my still innocence,"
and the result was that happiness was only a vision for me,
this is the way in which some starting years of my life passed,
then i thought how will my remaining life passed.
Let's leave our children innocence, when their parents are away from home.  Do not try to abuse them, when they are all alone.
Let's leave our children innocence, when they are on a trip.  Don't take advantage of them in the water, while they take a dip.
Let's leave our children innocence, while staying over with a  friend at night.  When they return home again, don't let their parents discern, something is not right.
Let's leave our children innocence, while out with a relative.  When they are at home again, look for a smile, and not big running tears.
Let our children keep their innocence, until they are married, and out of the home.  Don't leave their lives broken, depressed and scarred, because their innocence is gone.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Tina ford Sep 2015
A laugh, a smile, a giggle,
Questions of why, where and who,
And then why again,
Is what all children do,

Innocence of purity,
Innocence of truth,
Innocence worth keeping,
Innocence of youth,

A laugh turns into scoffing,
The questions more of fault,
As innocence is lost with age,
And becoming more adult,

Please cherish a Childs innocence,
Nurture their outlook so white,
Let them carry it through their living,
And keep it in their sight.
The Terry Tree Dec 2014
In fields you walk with cloven wanderlust
With blankets carried on your back as fleece
Protecting fellow sheep-fold innocence
From devious behavior in the flock
Smiling as you bleat and stride as golden
Reflecting rays like sunlit drops of milk

A lamb of God your knowledge is your milk
Your curiosity breathes wanderlust
A message from the ancient one baas golden
Engraved upon your heart and curls of fleece
Observe the blessed range within your flock
Stray not for you may lose your innocence

A fog in hills may blind your innocence
Beware the wolf will take more than your milk
And with each day you bond among your flock
Behold the beauty of group wanderlust
We thank you for your warm and cherished fleece
That soothes us as earth's twilight breaks golden

Glory to the impossible golden
For myths of your spiritual innocence
Merely trumpets what liberates your fleece
The holy grail is your chalice of milk
Discovered in a cave of wanderlust
Restful within the shadow of your flock

What joy is raised in stables of your flock
An offering of ritual golden
Pasture of thirsty hearts in wanderlust
You teach us to hold fast to innocence
How precious is the richness of your milk
Our comfort is to rest our heads on fleece

A new dawn to behold an age of fleece
A new dusk to protect an ancient flock
A new day to preserve the gift of milk
A new memory to hold futures golden
A never ending age of innocence
A satiated age of wanderlust

Fruitful wanderlust of black sage fleece
Shepherds innocence to a white cloaked flock
Prepare ye golden moments with thine milk

© tHE tERRY tREE
Poetic Form | Sestina
A sestina is a form of poetry that uses a method of repeating words at the end of each line. It has 6 stanzas of 6 lines each, with an envoy (or tercet) of three lines to conclude the poem.
antoinette white Feb 2012
Night sets,
The sun falls.
Moon and stars become uncovered.
A pink faced child crawls under the covers.
A cardboard book is clutched in soft bands.
A                           f
                       d          a
                   e                   r
               r                          m
                     c                b
                    u                 a
                    t                  r
                    e ­                n
looks innocent and careless.
Mother hen, baby calf, wiggly pig,
their  smiling faces send the child off to sleep.

That child remembers that story.
They remember the smiling faces of
mother hen, baby calf, wiggly pig.

That child is no long a child,
they no longer read that cardboard farm book.
They remember their childhood with that book,
they blur into one.
They see a barn just like the  
                             f
                       d          a
                   e                   r
               r                          m
                     c                b
                    u                 a
                    t                  r
                    e ­                n
just like the picture in the cardboard farm book.

They stop to revisit their childhood,
they stop to revisit their innocence,
they stop to revisit those smiling faces.


                             f
                       d          a
                   e                   r
               r                          m
                     c                b
                    u                 a
                    t                  r
                    e ­                n
is only a step away,
that no longer child pushes open the sun warmed door.
They except innocence,
they except those smiling faces,
but they did not see what they expected.

The innocence of their childhood was a lie,
there are no smiling faces here.

This is not the
                              f
                       d          a
                   e                   r
               r                          m
                     c                b
                    u                 a
                    t                  r
                    e ­                n
from their cardboard book,
from their childhood,
they blurred into one.

Mother hen is not smiling,
her beak is cut off with a hot blade, she cannot move her wings in her cage,
her daughters are taken to live her fate,
her sons are ground alive to be feed to her,
mother hen is not smiling.

Baby calf is not smiling,
baby calf is just born,
then taken by a man in blood soaked boots,
baby calf watches helpless as their mother cries,
as their mother chews the metal bars,
as their mother fights the electric shocks.
Baby calf does not know their father,
neither does their mother.
Baby calf is put in a metal cage,
they will live a year or two,
baby calf will not move,
that is the point of veal.
Baby calf is not smiling.

Wiggly pig is not smiling,
wiggly pig can only wiggle,
only enough so her babies can drink her milk,
she cannot reach them though.
Wiggly pig will watch her babies grow,
but beyond what is natural,
beyond what their hearts can handle,
but there is a big demand for bacon.
Wiggly pig can see her babies hung from their hooves,
and slit open alive,
but wiggly pig can only wiggle.
Wiggly pig is not smiling.

That                     f
                       d          a
                   e                   r
               r                          m
                     c                b
                    u                 a
                    t                  r
                    e ­                n
is not as innocent as the cardboard farm book.
That farm in the book,
it was a lie,
but that cardboard farm book was their childhood right?
They blur into one.
Their childhood was a lie.

That no longer child lived a lie,
because power wanted them to only see the smiling faces,
they wanted them to believe that farm in the book
to be true,
not the lie that really is.
Power took away their innocence of childhood.
Power took away babies from their mothers.
Power took away my smile.
The                      f
                       d          a
                   e                   r
               r                          m
                     c                b
                    u                 a
                    t                  r
                    e ­                n
from my child no longer sends me off to sleep.
Instead it keeps me awake with the image of a farm,
not the farm in the cardboard book though,
a farm not filled with smiling animals,
a farm filled with cries, blood, sorrow, pain, horror, death.
A farm that is a lie.
AngelAutumn4 Jul 2015
If my innocence had a name, how would it be spelled? Crooked with C's or crossed with X's, maybe straight-laced with L's, sometimes bent at the ends?

If my innocence had a name, what would it be? Simple like Adam, or sweet like Eve? Would it mirror mine, or choose to be free?

If my innocence had a name, would I bother to remember? Or surrender my thoughts to the remedy of amnesia, that seeks to soothe me in times of need?

If my innocence had a name, would I even want to know? So time could choose when it would go and leave me here alone, with nothing but a memory of who my innocence used to be?

If my innocence had a name, I've forgotten how to say it. Laid to waste in this mind of mine, that hates to hold on, to the good times.
Those sparkling eyes, that charming smile
That countenance full of love
You cast a spell on everyone,
Innocence, you are a child!

Your naughty pranks, your witty lies,
Your cries and your giggles
I have no answer to your endless queries
Innocence, you are a child!

You know no caste, you know no creed
You know no envy and pride
You put to shame, men at war
Innocence, you are a child!

I watch you sleep, undisturbed
A picture of serenity!
With a smile on your face and a tear in your eye
Innocence, you are a child!
The uniVerse Aug 2016
I dream of innocence
of days long spent
beneath summers sun
a Carpenters son
and royal daughter
a Queen and a martyr
one girl one boy
eyes fuse like alloy
caught in a sudden trance
a courtship dance
loves hypnotic rituals
of star filled visuals
white lights against black night
white Knight versus black Knight
this is now a game of chess
strategizing what to do next.

Three is a crowd
how I wish he wasn't around
your first mistake
so I sit and wait
for the nightmare to be over
for my Knights mare to save her
I already know the pain she's due
it's as old as the sun, this rain isn't new
nothing washes away infidelities sinning
nothing can make them white sheets of linen
once innocence is lost like paradise
if only you took another roll at the dice
maybe fate is predetermined numbers
and maybe innocence only exists in slumber
maybe it was lost at birth
maybe it's just an ancient curse
inherited from days long ago
maybe we were never white as snow.

But still I have this martyrs cause
yet still I never really give pause
the Knight that sacrifices for his Queen
for he has already witnessed all to be seen
history repeating itself
Déjà vu sapping our health
reincarnated pain
can the black Knight ever be slain?
or is it just another side of the coin
everyone is still curtain drawing
hiding from the dark
the day that's lost its spark
black night only masks the sun
black Knight versus the Carpenters son
but white lights appear in the sky
the white night is there when we die
when our numbers finally up
when our slumber finally stops
the ending of the night
maybe we aren't really Knights
maybe we are all just pawns
so innocence can be reborn.
https://www.instagram.com/p/ByEKcNQHA_z/
Jackie White May 2015
The song of innocence stopped when she screamed.
She screamed out of fear.
She knew she did something forbidden
The song of innocence played for a man,
And the bird sang as the man ran,
And the bird sang as the man fell.
The song of innocence soothes the ears of a girl.
A girl who listens with curiosity
A girl who grew up to be a woman
To **** a Mockingbird poem i had to do for my Language Arts class. i liked it, so i wanted to share.
The first person mentioned is Mayella, the second is Tom Robinson, and  the third is, of course, Scout
Em Glass Apr 2013
it wasn't snowing yet, but they'd told us it would.
probably I said something infantile, about how
I could smell it, the frostiness of snowflakes in the
air, because you smiled that knowing smile of yours,
like you were an adult and i was a child and you
didn't have the heart to take my innocence away.

that look always made my heart smile, sadly, and
it also drove me up a wall, partly because it made
me want to hug you close and pity you the
burden of assumed moral superiority, and whisper
that you, too were a child. but mostly because you
were right— I clung to my naiveté while you, you
had already had the good sense to push it away.
it followed you around with sad puppy eyes, but
you knew it and you kept it at arm's length.
you brave, brave soul.

when it did start to snow I wasn't surprised. you
were. you didn't say anything. we were in
a deserted school hallway, listening, removed
from the other kids' cries. we were
delighted too, but the others wanted to run home
early, and we knew the definition
of home better than they. and I can speak only for
myself but it seemed we both wanted only to stay
forever side by side, tucked away in our corner,
me reveling in the softness of love and friendship
and winter, you trying to be there with me but having
trouble leaving your mind, where that sad-eyed
puppy snapped at your heels. it whimpered
but you held your own.

and slowly, we built up moments like this one.
we wallowed in each other and in the coziness
of cloudy days. we read good poetry and
heard good music and took photographs as we
discussed life from our  softer world.
there were moments of such pure white happiness
that they came full circle to being sad,
simply because I knew I would never be that
happy again, and I was not wrong, and I didn't
want to be. and we had
sad moments, too, never ever think I am not
happy to be sad with you.

and slowly, too, your innocence knew its
defeat, and sat obediently at your feet,
and we shared things.
but I was a child, and a weak one at that, and
God knew I was not as strong as you so she
gave me no great suffering to speak of, to
share with you. no way to reciprocate the
vulnerability you gave, and that in
itself was suffering for me.

I regret that I was not good at saying things.
that while
you had to be your own adult and push childhood
away, I clung hopelessly to mine as
I discovered me and watched it slip
from my small hands.

among the plethora of reasons I can give for
bitterly hating sunny days is the
way the sun slanted through the window and lit
up your eyes and swilled particles around
your face like fairy dust on the day you reached
out and pulled my lanyard over your own neck.
look, you said, content. almost proud.
I'm wearing a bit of you around my
neck,
and you wove it through your
sunlit fingers, eyes bright. you tugged on it,
lightly. that's what love does, it strangles
you. and we all want it.


and I gasped at the way that word sounded,
so harsh in such beautiful sunlight on such
a soft face. but I don't want to strangle
you
. I said that. thoughtlessly,
instinctively. I regret it every day. in that regard,
you gave me a strength, but it's no german shepherd—
you are so **** strong.

when your ache tugged and tugged at you,
tore you from reality, or brought you closer to it,
it slipped its finger into that lanyard knot. loosened it.
I could have reached out right then, as you had when you
pulled the sun-soaked string over your head, and
tightened it. tightened us. been a friend.

I didn't tug the knot. if you run.
when you run,
I know that two grown dogs
will follow after you, blocked
from the sun by your receding shadow.
Tumimchunu May 2014
Where did the innocence go?
Doves turned to ravens,
Juicesboxes turned to bottles,
Toxic beverages leaving poisoned bodies to roam these streets,
Possessing personalities of *******,
Suckers turned to joints,
The high replaced the feeling of love,
Which could propel you to places beyond any hallucination,
Virgins mimicked, giggled at,
Wide eyed stares penetrate their skin as they stroll on streets,
Whispers fill rooms as their sealed bodies strut,
Jealous viewers stand, shattered,
With no purity to share with their loved ones.
Thinking their assets can be displayed for the public to adjudicate,
Maybe we're to young to know about love,
We're young, yes we are.
But what good is a young nation,
With poisoned , broken youth.
What good is a nation with no future leaders.
So I'm asking, where did the innocence go?
Tell me so I can know.
So I can replace the demons that lurk in these infants,
With the innocence that should gleam,
From their flesh.
An old poem written when I was a bud in the poetry biz (retro)
Bria Grimm Nov 2015
I hope you never reach
The day
Where you are lost for words
Because they're tangled up in
Agony.

I hope you never reach
The point
Where your innocence of
The world is
Robbed.

I hope you choose
Your friends and
Lovers wisely
So that you never have to
Discover what it feels like
To see those who you believed
Would take a bullet for you
Dance behind the
Trigger.
I am very fortunate that this has made the daily poems! I am completely new to this site (about a week or two in) and it is truly an honor to have my work recognized. Thank you guys for supporting!
Nay Jun 2020
Innocence, we all have it once
When darkness creeps in
Temptations happen to replace
Innocence started to fade

Nothing seems to help again
Merely a tiny spark remains
Innocence have been replaced
By euphoric feelings of escape

Holding on to illegal escape
Innocence can’t find me in the dark
Darkness can’t taunt me in morality
Glory can find me in rhythm

Better to burn out than to rust
I killed innocence from my crack
I miss innocence without me
I don’t need innocence in verity
I wrote this in my online final exam
When you give up what you believe in?
When you lose the last shred of your childhood?
When you let lust get in the way of finding love?
When you let one kiss go too far?
These questions.... Have no answer.
Innocence is neither obtained nor lost.
Because innocence is non-existent.
We are all pawns in this game called life.
No one being is pure.
We all have evil streaming within our blood.
Some... Spend their whole lives acting
as though innocence consumes their being
and the rest of us embrace out imperfections.
Realizing the innocence is unobtainable.
Innocence... Neither obtained, or lost.
LifeBeauty13 Dec 2015
Innocence, the glorious array we are born with.
Their is no impossible with our Innocence.
Want to fly? You can.
High in the sky,with the birds,and the clouds,
looking down at your world,but you want more...
Break the atmosphere,make the stars your friends,
the planets your domain,the universe is your backyard.
I am a superhero.I help the helpless and the hurting,
their is nothing that I can't do!
I want a pony,so my dog and I go on amazing adventures.
I must protect the human race against evil,
so I can move you with the powers of my mind.
I can dance,sing,build,draw,I am an Artist and I am so good.
My works are shown at the exhibit called,"The Fridge".
Santa does not just come for Christmas,I can ride in his
sleigh anytime of the year.
God is my best Friend and He loves me so much.
Their is nothing I can't do.
What about now?I am an adult,what happens to my Innocence?
I hold it close,and tell no one...
I am still a singer,dancer,Artist.
I can do anything I set my mind to.
My Innocence becomes hope and grows into faith.
I am still a superhero and God the Father is still my best friend,
and my Innocence...I hold close to my heart and I dream.
Never stop dreaming,hoping,believing. It is our best weapon in our arsenal in life.
Anonymous Jun 2013
In his Innocence,
He asked me a question.
When the words slipped out,
I felt the first tear slip free.
I felt the makeshift sling,
The one my heart lay in slip away,
I felt it tear away under the burden of my answer.
I welled up not with anger,
But with sadness and Envy.
For I could feel no anger towards him.
In his innocence he know not what he had done.
And for that his downfall was his best quality.
I wanted to tell him to hold onto that innocence,
Because I know all too well
When it's taken, it's ripped from our careless hands.
I wished him luck;
For him it wasn't the end it wasn't even the beginning of the end,
But soon it would be the end of the beginning.
So in his innocence I forgave him for bringing up those emotions I've been burying.
In his innocence.
Sarah Nov 2013
Parents, teachers, guardians, all authority figures
have put this importance
this upmost importance
on the loss of innocence
but they have not stood in the shoes of the teenagers of this age
the teenagers who have lost their innocence
(or if you are apart of the lucky group you are on the cusp of losing it)
its not just the physical aspect
in fact it has nothing to do with having *** at all
losing your innocence is much much more.
Its the first time you see your mom popping pills through the crack in the door
its the first time your own sister steals from you so she can fund her ****** habit
its the first time you get slapped
its the first time you slap someone
its the first time you turn to music, or books, or drugs, or drinking just to get out of your own head
its the first time you'll do anything to be numb for a little while
but its not just the bad stuff
no its beautiful too
its that night you got drunk and sat on your back in the grass and had a conversation with the stars
its looking at that lopsided smile, that dimple, and that chipped tooth and feeling something
its making the wrong decision on purpose because you just need the distraction
so basically what i'm saying is the loss of innocence isn't all bad and it isn't all good
but its something that happens to all of us
theres no defining moment
theres no epiphany where you feel the loss like something physical
its not real or tangible
and its not the same for everybody
for her its standing over her moms casket
for him its when he shot up that first time
for me its all the good and the bad that i wrote down and spit out in this poem
And for you... well thats what you have to figure out.
Innocence  displayed
Like a little girl touching dandelions
. . . a butterfly left behind
lingering on the doorsteps of winter . . .

Time , Time , Time
. . . so elusive , so undefined . . .

we have tried (so) true
(only) we fall so short

Love . . .  an instance in time . . .
. . . so passionate (in it's) displacement
We hope for but it lays like the cross
. . . at Jesus's feet . . .

We bury time , we bury love
We bury ourselves in search of both

The little girl without a sense of time
Knowing only basic love . . .
Tenderness of care . . .
and dandelions

Maybe we are the dandelions of time
Petals of love . , . surrounding each
in it's time . . . falling  . . .
one by one . . .
Like kisses given and taken

Lost to time , in love ,
till the doorsteps of winter
close in and freezes the moment

. . . all alone . . .

Love  . . . time . . . dandelions
Little girls . . . and innocence . . .

Run away as fast as you can
Just trying to figure out what in the Hell happened .
ElEschew Jun 2018
Innocence lost and forgotten
Innocence did it exist once?
Innocence such a weird concept
A childhood of sit down and shut up
A childhood of being ignored
A childhood of ‘im not here to take care of you’
A childhood of taking care of herself
Teenage years with no mother
Teenage years with ****
Teenage years with suicide attempts
Teenage years spent pining for what was lost.
Every child dreams of being independant
Every child dreams of the day their parents leave
Every child wants freedom
Until
Until its in your fate
Until your alone
Until you have to figure things out
Until its 3A.M and you're crying
Until you fantasize about yelling matches
Until then you dont know what freedom costs
Dear momma,
I love you, i forgive you for the addiction, i forgive you for not feeding me, and i forgive you for beating me and my sister, i understand, i know lifes hard now and ive only been through a fraction of what you did. I love you and i always will, no one will ever take your place.
Love, your baby
Dark Smile Mar 2015
Innocence is as pure as true love
As clean as a dove
As heavenly as fondue
A far cry from untrue
Innocence is the sound of the wind through the trees
But I sometimes wonder
Is it always what it seems?
Or is it not?
My love always said
It is what the eye sees and the mind believes
It is simply a game of hidden lies and pretty eyes.
It is a disguise for the guilty
A shield for the weak
Something rather oblique
A reason to deny
Innocence is nothing but a pure flawless lie
Disclaimer: This was written when I was 13 with two of my friends for a class project and I rediscovered it while looking through old files.
Crossing this path for the third time. God, I hope it's the last.
Sometimes I wish I knew what was in your mind.
Other times I just laugh.

Bethany, we have such a hard history. Childhood was a brawl.
I wish I had more compassion for you.
We were both so small.

Now here we are for the third time; oh what a shameful act.
Is it that we have too much pride?
Or perhaps it's a lack.

Oh, the horrors of family relations.
Oh, the binds that wound our salvation.
Oh, the lack of any sense.
Oh, the death of innocence.

Back at church camp, we did not know. We were caught unawares.
I ****** his **** (I had never before).
He kissed you on your nose.

I hear now he's engaged to a girl. I guess you won in the end.
But we both lost so much dignity.
He's still my Facebook friend.

Oh, we were so gullible.
Oh, it felt so horrible.
Oh, the lack of any sense.
Oh, the death of innocence.

Score number two was my fault, I guess. I loved him very well.
In middle school he called you his girl.
Now we're all going to Hell.

But in my defense, he was my first kiss.
He might have been yours as well.
I'm sorry, my sister, for liking his hair, and all the lies I tell.

Oh, now I've gone and hurted myself.
Oh, I can never ask for your help.
Oh, the lack of any sense.
Oh, the death of innocence.

Three days ago I discovered the third, which you confirmed in a text.
Did it have to be with my Paris love?
It was the first time I had ***.

Still, I win. If anyone can.
You'll date him in Ohio. It's mean to say, but it's the truth.
You're just his beard and a smile.

I want to say this, little sis. I wish that we could be friends.
But secrets breed secrets, which breed some more.
And we all die in the end.
Emily Hill Sep 2014
You stripped me of my innocence.
Yours were the first lips
To press passion onto my stunted ****.
My body bruised by your touch,
Your forked tongue hissed through gritted teeth,
Caress me, as your hands rattle
With anger, desire.
Testosterone fulled triggers
Blew holes into my anatomy,
Ripping apart my flesh.
Now I tie stitches where skin should be,
I'm bleeding out my purity.
Drip,
       Drip,
               Drip.
The beads of sweat, roll downwards,
Trickling off your looming armour.
They dance with the oceans in my eyes.
Itching spiders romance with the bones
Upon my empty corpse.
Hollow reeking mass,
Devoured by play pretend.
Love lead way to self devouring devotion,
We play on ties with lit matchsticks.
Broken, singed strings,
Where my innocence should lie.
Small, blonde, blue eyed girl kindergarten age, but not yet six
Brown haired eleven year old boy going through puberty
She trusted and was innocent
He betrayed and committed a grave sin

The upstairs bedroom with the twin beds
A bed with smooth sheets and curtains closed
A single light bulb burning bright in the ceiling
Outside behind the garage with car parts and a burn barrel

Memories a five year old shouldn’t have
Actions an eleven year old shouldn’t take
She didn’t know it was wrong
He coaxed her to keep it a secret

Innocence forgotten, walls erected
Shame she felt as time went on
Terrified to place blame
Years passing, it all stopping

Sadness knowing what transpired, never telling
Afraid of accusations of lying
An uncle a young girl should love and trust
Instead she learns to loathe

Discovering she was not at fault
No longer will she be ashamed
Confrontation is a step towards a demon destroyed
Soul soothing, enabling the skeletons to be released

His denial is his shackles of shame
Innocence lost never to be recovered
Victor D López Dec 2018
Victor D. López (October 11, 2018)

You were born five years before the beginning of the Spanish civil war and
Lived in a modest two-story home in the lower street of Fontan, facing the ocean that
Gifted you its wealth and beauty but also robbed you of your beloved and noblest eldest
Brother, Juan, who was killed while working as a fisherman out to sea at the tender age of 19.

You were a little girl much prone to crying. The neighbors would make you cry just by saying,
"Chora, neniña, chora" [Cry little girl, cry] which instantly produced inconsolable wailing.
At the age of seven or eight you were blinded by an eye Infection. The village doctor
Saved your eyesight, but not before you missed a full year of school.

You never recovered from that lost time. Your impatience and the shame of feeling left behind prevented
You from making up for lost time. Your wounded pride, the shame of not knowing what your friends knew,
Your restlessness and your inability to hold your tongue when you were corrected by your teacher created
A perfect storm that inevitably tossed your diminutive boat towards the rocks.

When still a girl, you saw Franco with his escort leave his yacht in Fontan. With the innocence of a girl
Who would never learn to hold her tongue, you asked a neighbor who was also present, "Who is that Man?"
"The Generalissimo Francisco Franco," she answered and whispered “Say ‘Viva Franco’ when he Passes by.”
With the innocence of a little girl and the arrogance of an incorrigible old soul you screamed, pointing:

"That's the Generalissimo?" followed up loud laughter, "He looks like Tom Thumb!"
A member of his protective detail approached you, raising his machine gun with the apparent intention of
Hitting you with the stock. "Leave her alone!" Franco ordered. "She is just a child — the fault is not hers."
You told that story many times in my presence, always with a smile or laughing out loud.

I don't believe you ever appreciated the possible import of that "feat" of contempt for
Authority. Could that act of derision have played some small part in their later
Coming for your father and taking him prisoner, torturing him for months and eventually
Condemning him to be executed by firing squad in the Plaza de Maria Pita?

He escaped his fate with the help of a fascist officer who freed him as I’ve noted earlier.
Such was his reputation, the power of his ideas and the esteem even of friends who did not share his views.
Such was your innocence or your psychic blind spot that you never realized your possible contribution to
His destruction. Thank God you never connected the possible impact of your words on his downfall.

You adored your dad throughout your life with a passion of which he was most deserving.
He died shortly after the end of the Spanish Civil War. A mother with ten mouths to feed
Needed help. You stepped up in response to her silent, urgent need. At the age of
Eleven you left school for the last time and began working full time.

Children could not legally work in Franco’s Spain. Nevertheless, a cousin who owned a cannery
Took pity on your situation and allowed you to work full-time in his fish cannery factory in Sada.
You earned the same salary as the adult, predominantly women workers and worked better
Than most of them with a dexterity and rapidity that served you well your entire life.

In your free time before work you carried water from the communal fountain to neighbors for a few cents.
You also made trips carrying water on your head for home and with a pail in each hand. This continued after
You began work in Cheche’s cannery. You rose long before sunrise to get the water for
Home and for the local fishermen before they left on their daily fishing trips for their personal water pails.

All of the money you earned went to your mom with great pride that a girl could provide more than the salary of a
Grown woman--at the mere cost of her childhood and education. You also washed clothes for some
Neighbors for a few cents more, with diapers for newborns always free just for the pleasure of being
Allowed to see, hold spend some time with the babies you so dearly loved you whole life through.
When you were old enough to go to the Sunday cinema and dances, you continued the
Same routine and added washing and ironed the Sunday clothes for the young fishermen
Who wanted to look their best for the weekly dances. The money from that third job was your own
To pay for weekly hairdos, the cinema and dance hall entry fee. The rest still went to your mom.

At 16 you wanted to go to emigrate to Buenos Aires to live with an aunt.
Your mom agreed to let you--provided you took your younger sister, Remedios, with you.
You reluctantly agreed. You found you also could not legally work in Buenos Aires as a minor.
So you convincingly lied about your age and got a job as a nurse’s aide at a clinic soon after your arrival.

You washed bedpans, made beds, scrubbed floors and did other similar assigned tasks
To earn enough money to pay the passage for your mom and two youngest brothers,
Sito (José) and Paco (Francisco). Later you got a job as a maid at a hotel in the resort town of
Mar del Plata whose owners loved your passion for taking care of their infant children.

You served as a maid and unpaid babysitter. Between your modest salary and
Tips as a maid you soon earned the rest of the funds needed for your mom’s and brothers’
Passage from Spain. You returned to Buenos Aires and found two rooms you could afford in an
Excellent neighborhood at an old boarding house near the Spanish Consulate in the center of the city.

Afterwards you got a job at a Ponds laboratory as a machine operator of packaging
Machines for Ponds’ beauty products. You made good money and helped to support your
Mom and brothers  while she continued working as hard as she always had in Spain,
No longer selling fish but cleaning a funeral home and washing clothing by hand.

When your brothers were old enough to work, they joined you in supporting your
Mom and getting her to retire from working outside the home.
You lived with your mom in the same home until you married dad years later,
And never lost the bad habit of stubbornly speaking your mind no matter the cost.

Your union tried to force you to register as a Peronista. Once burned twice cautious,
You refused, telling the syndicate you had not escaped one dictator to ally yourself with
Another. They threatened to fire you. When you would not yield, they threatened to
Repatriate you, your mom and brothers back to Spain.

I can’t print your reply here. They finally brought you to the general manager’s office
Demanding he fire you. You demanded a valid reason for their request.
The manager—doubtless at his own peril—refused, saying he had no better worker
Than you and that the union had no cause to demand your dismissal.

After several years of courtship, you and dad married. You had the world well in hand with
Well-paying jobs and strong savings that would allow you to live a very comfortable life.
You seemed incapable of having the children you so longed for. Three years of painful
Treatments allowed you to give me life and we lived three more years in a beautiful apartment.

I have memories from a very tender age and remember that apartment very well. But things changed
When you decided to go into businesses that soon became unsustainable in the runaway inflation and
Economic chaos of the Argentina of the early 1960’s. I remember only too well your extreme sacrifice
And dad’s during that time—A theme for another day, but not for today.

You were the hardest working person I’ve ever known. You were not afraid of any honest
Job no matter how challenging and your restlessness and competitive spirit always made you a
Stellar employee everywhere you worked no matter how hard or challenging the job.
Even at home you could not stand still unless there was someone with whom to chat awhile.

You were a truly great cook thanks in part to learning from the chef of the hotel where you had
Worked in Mar del Plata awhile—a fellow Spaniard of Basque descent who taught you many of his favorite
Dishes—Spanish and Italian specialties. You were always a terribly picky eater. But you
Loved to cook for family and friends—the more the merrier—and for special holidays.

Dad was also a terrific cook, but with a more limited repertoire. I learned to cook
With great joy from both of you at a young age. And, though neither my culinary skills nor
Any aspect of my life can match you or dad, I too am a decent cook and
Love to cook, especially for meals shared with loved ones.

You took great pleasure in introducing my friends to some of your favorite dishes such as
Cazuela de mariscos, paella marinera, caldo Gallego, stews, roasts, and your incomparable
Canelones, ñoquis, orejas, crepes, muñuelos, flan, and the rest of your long culinary repertoire.
In primary and middle school dad picked me up every day for lunch before going to work.

You and he worked the second shift and did not leave for work until around 2:00 p.m.
Many days, dad would bring a carload of classmates with me for lunch.
I remember as if it were yesterday the faces of my Jewish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Irish
And Italian friends when first introduced to octopus, Spanish tortilla, caldo Gallego, and flan.

The same was true during college and law school.  At times our home resembled an
U.N. General Assembly meeting—but always featuring food. You always treated my
Closest friends as if they were your children and a number of them to this day love
You as a second mother though they have not seen you for many years.

You had tremendous passion and affinity for being a mother (a great pity to have just one child).
It made you over-protective. You bought my clothes at an exclusive boutique. I became a
Living doll for someone denied such toys as a young girl. You would not let me out of your sight and
Kept me in a germ-free environment that eventually produced some negative health issues.

My pediatrician told you often “I want to see him with ***** finger nails and scraped knees.”
You dismissed the statement as a joke. You’d take me often to the park and to my
Favorite merry-go-round. But I had not one friend until I was seven or eight and then just one.
I did not have a real circle of friends until I was about 13 years old. Sad.

I was walking and talking up a storm in complete sentences when I was one year old.
You were concerned and took me to my pediatrician who laughed. He showed me a
Keychain and asked, “What is this Danny.” “Those are your car keys” I replied. After a longer
Evaluation he told my mom it was important to encourage and feed my curiosity.

According to you, I was unbearable (some things never change). I asked dad endless questions such as,
“Why is the sun hot? How far are the stars and what are they made of? Why
Can’t I see the reflection of a flashlight pointed at the sky at night? Why don’t airplanes
Have pontoons on top of the wheels so they can land on both water and land? Etc., etc., etc.

He would answer me patiently to the best of his ability and wait for the inevitable follow-ups.
I remember train and bus rides when very young sitting on his lap asking him a thousand Questions.
Unfortunately, when I asked you a question you could not answer, you more often than not made up an answer Rather than simply saying “I don’t know,” or “go ask dad” or even “go to hell you little monster!”

I drove you crazy. Whatever you were doing I wanted to learn to do, whether it was working on the
Sewing machine, knitting, cooking, ironing, or anything else that looked remotely interesting.
I can’t imagine your frustration. Yet you always found only joy in your little boy at all ages.
Such was your enormous love which surrounded me every day of my life and still does.

When you told me a story and I did not like the ending, such as with “Little Red Riding Hood,”
I demanded a better one and would cry interminably if I did not get it. Poor mom. What patience!
Reading or making up a story that little Danny did not approve of could be dangerous.
I remember one day in a movie theater watching the cartoons I loved (and still love).

Donald Duck came out from stage right eating a sandwich. Sitting between you and dad I asked you
For a sandwich. Rather than explaining that the sandwich was not real, that we’d go to dinner after the show
To eat my favorite steak sandwich (as usual), you simply told me that Donald Duck would soon bring me the sandwich. But when the scene changed, Donald Duck came back smacking his lips without the sandwich.

Then all hell broke loose. I wailed at the top of my lungs that Donald Duck had eaten my sandwich.
He had lied to me and not given me the promised sandwich. That was unbearable. There was
No way to console me or make me understand—too late—that Donald Duck was also hungry,
That it was his sandwich, not mine, or that what was on the screen was just a cartoon and not real.

He, Donald Duck, mi favorite Disney character (then and now) hade eaten this little boy’s Sandwich. Such a Betrayal by a loved one was inconceivable and unbearable. You and dad had to drag me out of the theater ranting And crying at the injustice at top volume. The tantrum (extremely rare for me then, less so now) went on for awhile, but all was well again when my beloved Aunt Nieves gave me a ******* with jam and told me Donald had sent it.

So much water under the bridge. Your own memories, like smoke in a soft breeze, have dissipated
Into insubstantial molecules like so many stars in the night sky that paint no coherent picture.
An entire life of vital conversations turned to the whispers of children in a violent tropical storm,
Insubstantial, imperceptible fragments—just a dream that interrupts an eternal nightmare.

That is your life today. Your memory was always prodigious. You knew the name of every person
You ever met, and those of their family members. You could recall entire conversations word for word.
Three years of schooling proved more than sufficient for you to go out into the world, carving your own
Path from the Inhospitable wilderness and learning to read and write at the age of 16.

You would have been a far better lawyer than I and a fiery litigator who would have fought injustice
Wherever you found it and always defended the rights of those who cannot defend themselves,
Especially children who were always your most fervent passion. You sacrificed everything for others,
Always put yourself dead-last, and never asked for anything in return.

You were an excellent dancer and could sing like an angel. Song was your release in times of joy and
In times of pain. You did not drink or smoke or over-indulge in anything. For much of your life your only minor Indulgence was a weekly trip to the beauty parlor—even in Spain where your washing and ironing income
Paid for that. You were never vain in any way, but your self-respect required you to try to look your best.

You loved people and unlike dad who was for the most part shy, you were quite happy in the all-to-infrequent
Role as the life of the party—singing, dressing up as Charlie Chaplin or a newborn for New Year’s Eve parties with Family and close friends. A natural story-teller until dementia robbed you of the ability to articulate your thoughts,
You’d entertain anyone who would listen with anecdotes, stories, jokes and lively conversation.

In short: you were an exceptional person with a large spirit, a mischievous streak, and an enormous heart.
I know I am not objective about you, but any of your surviving friends and family members who knew you
Well will attest to this and more in a nanosecond. You had an incredibly positive, indomitable attitude
That led you to rush in where angels fear to treat not out of foolishness but out of supreme confidence.

Life handed you cartloads of lemons—enough to pickle the most ardent optimist. And you made not just
Lemonade but lemon merengue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon drops, then ground up the rind for sweetest
Rice pudding, flan, fried dough and a dozen other delicacies. And when all the lemons were gone, you sowed the Seeds from which extraordinarily beautiful lemon trees grew with fruit sweeter than grapes, plums, or cherries.

I’ve always said with great pride that you were a far better writer than I. How many excellent novels,
Plays, and poems could you have written with half of my education and three times my workload?
There is no justice in this world. Why does God give bread to those without teeth? Your
Prodigious memory no longer allows you to recognize me. I was the last person you forgot.

But even now when you cannot have a conversation in any language, Sometimes your eyes sparkle, and
You call me “neniño” (my little boy in Galician) and I know that for an instant you are no longer alone.
But too son the light fades and the darkness returns. I can only see you a few hours one day a week.
My life circumstances do not leave me another option. The visits are bitter sweet but I’m grateful for them.

Someday I won’t even have that opportunity to spend a few hours with you. You’ll have no
Monument to mark your passing save in my memory so long as reason remains. An entire
Life of incalculable sacrifice will leave behind only the poorest living legacy of love
In your son who lacks appropriate words to adequately honor your memory, and always will.


*          *          *

The day has come, too son. October 11, 2018. The call came at 3:30 am.
An hour or two after I had fallen asleep. They tried CPR in vain. There will be no more
Opportunities to say, “I Love you,” to caress your hands and face, to softly sing in your ear,
To put cream on your hands, or to hope that this week you might remember me.

No more time to tell you the accomplishments of loved ones, who I saw, what they told me,
Who asked about you this week, or to pray with you, or to ask if you would give me a kiss by putting my
Cheek close to your lips, to feel joy when you graced me with many little kisses in response,
Or tell you “Maybe next time” when as more often than not the case for months you did not respond.

In saying good bye I’d give you the kiss and hug Alice always sent you,
Followed by three more kisses on the forehead from dad (he always gave you three) and one from me.
I’d leave the TV on to a channel with people and no sound and when possible
Wait for you to close your eyes before leaving.

Time has run out. No further extensions are possible. My prayers change from asking God to protect
You and by His Grace allow you to heal a little bit each day to praying that God protect your
Soul and dad’s and that He allow you to rest in peace in His kingdom. I miss you and Dad very much
And will do so as long as God grants me the gift of reason. I never knew what it is to be alone. I do now.

Four years seeing your blinding light reduced to a weak flickering candle in total darkness.
Four years fearing that you might be aware of your situation.
Four years praying that you would not feel pain, sadness or loneliness.
Four years learning to say goodbye. The rest of my life now waiting in the hope of seeing you again.

I love you mom, with all my heart, always and forever.
Written originally in Spanish and translated into English with minor additions on my mom's passing (October 2018).

— The End —