The Children

This is a grown-up world

not a place for the innocent

a place for the tired and spent

for the pain and terror and deep resentment

But thrust among us are child eyes

and child feet

in this old world replete

with time and age and fear and defeat

And yet there’s no reconcilliation

for long skinny arms and legs

with odd naivete that begs

to know the why and when and what affects

This is a place for the mature

for gray heads stooped with grave despair

for those who have seen their share

and know that this good life is not fair.