I loved, and I birthed,
A child, a childhood.
The child, he is, forever I thought.
I dreamed, I sang, I breathed,
This child, he grew, and sang along.
He played, he cried, he hurt, he longed.
Then, from child to adolescent,
He stood, swaying hither, thither
A threshold of sorts, a line to be crossed.
The mother- a woman who saw,
A childhood aside cast,
Emerged a lad, whose strength lay,
Not in me, not the universe,
But a tempest that held his sway,
For himself he created a turbulent ocean,
Tossed here, tossed there,
Became the name of the game,
Preferred the rush, the high tides,
To a tranquil home, and gentle rides.
A lost childhood, an end I daresay,
To times that were sweet,
Innocent, blameless fair play.
Matters not, cause all childhood must stay,
Where they belong – so long.
Replaced with matters that shatter, yet
A need arises for order to sustain,
A future of memory that doesn’t stain,
This lost childhood.