Kids Of The Camphor Lodge Poem by Raj Dronamraju

Guess we were running in place
To reach destination chromosome
Guess we were always running in place

It smells in here
Of turpentine and loneliness
Of turpentine and childhood

Guess we were making excuses
We were after all raised to believe no man dare time-wise to take an eye off the passing of days into night
Guess we were always making excuses

I hope no one overhears us threatening one another with growing up
The wild-eyed doing research
Bringing forth the chalice filed with double standards
Bringing forth the malice we can feel across the lake

I hadn't known we were the temporary outsourcing of an extreme fidelity
To teenage legends, to overnight treks and the place for nature in a person's life
Across a field comes you as a little boy collecting old newspapers to recycle for change
Across a field comes you recycling yourself growing more and more flimsier, less real each time