The Child

Before the innocence dies,

And you stop believing in lies,

You believe nothing is impossible.

You haven’t experienced defeat,

And nothing is a difficult feat,

You don’t know what death is.

You sleep in your comfy bed,

You sleep happy, you were fed,

And you await for a new day to play.

This is the beauty of having being a child,

Where a tragedy is something mild,

Most likely a scrape or a best friends fight,

But only if you were part of those who could.

There is no time for that in hunger, exploitation, wars…

I bet these kids never saw the beauty of the stars.

The playground a dangerous game.

In survival mode since they remember,

Worst than the cavemen years in December.

Their demise our own fault based on our actions.

If we don’t see it, it doesn’t exist,

If we do, we feel helpless or are the fist.

Oh how difficult is to see a child never be!

B. Meza 02/20/15


About B. Meza

Writing is liberating.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s