Sitting at the pool on holiday listening to kids from all nations sharing one thing…laughing and being happy. I wrote this…the ‘parents poem’…
A vision with light and no dark parts,
No care for the finish, and a million starts.
With boundaries amiss, the unrestricted laughs,
An innocence that is feral, immeasurable on graphs.
Sipping from the Grail that always seems full,
A push in safe directions, the harsh supportive pull.
The staring beyond eyes and deep into our routes,
Infinitum in the good, and never staged disputes.
And every waking moment of their blissful mini dawns.
Isn’t fractious, fights and friction that’s tattered, trapped and torn.
Their unscheduled harmless plan, chaos freely runs,
And makes them all complete, yet unravels ageing Dons.
Far from flaws they manage their adolescent pain,
The setbacks coped and conquered, fire’s ash it feeds the gain.
A stroll through tar and treacle, would be felt by aging masses,
Is a challenge that sees no money, greed or hate or classes.
So what defines maturity as adults set the goals,
Abiding by the rules is patchwork filled with holes.
The questionable parental…executive directive,
As we bastardise their bright…crystal clear perspective.
Faced with colour in conflict, they simply want to paint,
Never daubed to undermind, splice and hate or taint.
A friendship is only seen in the thing we label cultures,
They share the open skies as we rip at flesh like vultures.
Not ruined by the dark or perverted course of life,
We silence all they say, hearing noise and seeing strife.
We must cease the stage but look, and receive their fledgling pearls,
Because our fake matured perfection, is fracturing their world.
I don’t know what the answer is to rectify the wrongs,
Social inspiration seen in quotes and scripts and songs?
But what if all of these years we’ve subdued the honest truth,
By placing gagging orders on the wisdom of the youth?
COPYRIGHT 2019 Pedro Batpoet