Eventually Young Child

EVENTUALLY, YOUNG CHILD

Eventually, young child

You become the most senior

It dawns that Eleanor Rigby lives

Walking by every day

Rose scent turned to oily rag

Preceding her down the street

No accident you’ve seen them

Come to the front of the conscience

A meek whimper as they fade

No yelling out in protest

Realizing sporadic protesting that is why they got there

Alienating sympathies

But who can be joyful and magnanimous

With cold leg bones

Stomach long since collapsed on itself

Vacant eyes drive them on

Life must have something for them

Even if just put off

Does the good life begin

At the bottom of sixty and broke?

Whole world ready to burn?

Not leaving stories untold

All nature of pain unfolds

Survival the constant factor

Multiplied or divided

Squared or cubed

Still comes up zero

So you look back

Feel once again the wonder

Of a birth

Thrill of a kid’s game

With yours laughing and competing

Bound together throughout time

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CALM Publishing