Unless We Become Children Again Poem by RIC BASTASA

no one dies
from the viewpoint of our
eyes
as children

everyone is alive
and too remember
when his papa died
he only sees him
sleeping

surprised why his mama
is crying
why clothes have to be black
why there is
nothing but sobbing
and patting of shoulders
and arranging
flowers and
saying a very lengthy
prayer

bored and
feeling so strange

he leaves the wake
goes outside and looks
for his friends
and then they busy themselves
with their
games and laughter