& a comparison or 2

A poem about childish things.

You are like a child

who grows younger

& younger

every day,

smoothing over lines

with the sharp -cracks- of a smile,

& swaying

back & forth,

back & forth

like the swing

in an overgrown backyard,

like the child who sits


on that swing

& grows backwards,




you regress further

with every moment.


You are like the hair that grows

from the head of the child,


& unruly

& never the same.


Like their small, chubby fingers,

you are clumsy,

s t u m b l i n g around a dark world

that offers you

no rest

from your actions,

(& yet)

unlike a small child

who is more clever,


& observing

each moment in life,



by leaps & b o u n d s , showing

that there is hope yet for them

in our adult world,)


you cannot seem to learn

from the mistakes you make.


Each error leads to another;

like a child,

you are running in a circle,

forever chasing a butterfly

that has lost its wings.


Your toys lie

scattered around you,




& broken.


Like a child,

you grow tired

of the same old routine,

the people you see

& the games they make you play,

(day after day.)

Moment after moment

after unplanned moment

you grow younger

until one day

you will be an infant,



& then

you will be

wailing & wishing

you could grow older

& make it all up to me.

The End

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