& 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

(lonely)

on that swing

& grows backwards,

 

(backwards)

 

you regress further

with every moment.

 

You are like the hair that grows

from the head of the child,

?wild?

& 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,

quieter

& observing

each moment in life,

(learning,

growing

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,

abandoned,

dusty,

-cracked-

& 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,

unspeaking.

 

& then

you will be

wailing & wishing

you could grow older

& make it all up to me.

The End

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