_Each A Child We Have_

Innocence of new beginning,
How subtle
Be the wrath of living.

Torn spreads of breath
Cold hours of tears
As age brings visual of death.

Subside to coins of purse
Hide image of sorrow and hurt,
How lonely the child.

A laugh quickly taken,
Stolen,
Set aside.

A slow consumption
Of what is not vibrant.
The child seeks the joyride.

But choice
And bitter time,
Leaves him mortified.

Poked and prod,
By likeness,
But torture be the divide.

An innocence we bribe,
Slide,
To the corners of our eyes.

A child tied,
Held behind the calcified,
Why do we act in Hyde,

As if nullified,
The child,
Wishes life,

But we often walk him to suicide.