014 ~ The Childhood I Left Behind - Poem by stan pelfrey
Poetry lays dormant in the attic of my mind.
Back-way back-past my old baseball cards
in the corner, where I hardly look.
All dust covered, unused and
soiled by the gentle passing
of mediocre time, laying on top
of a trunk containing my old school
papers, merits and awards, all
that once was sacred.
My past life,
the childhood I left behind.
One day, I was thrust into this thing-this role-
called reality. Here everything makes sense
to ultimate powers, in and of its themselves,
and if it does not have plausibility, my friend,
you must hurl it as if you were Hercules ridding
us all of the most evil and heavy rock
in our world. With one swift throw, get
it as far and as fast away from us as possible.
Any connection with this abstract, non-sensible
thing can cause us trouble and stress in our
plastic life of reality, and we wouldn’t want
that weight laying on our unimaginative,
guilt-ridden minds, now would we?
Like most children, once I too
had an imagination, but I cashed it
in for this, the realization of maturity.
Now, instead of feeling like life is
new and the sweetest treat to be
tasted, I feel despair
from the knowledge that life is
purely cyclical, and nothing that
happens now is new to the ages, we
just improve upon what has been
For we all have two things
in common-every woman, man,
boy, girl, beast, bug, cell, tissue-
which is this:
we all entered this,
a play called LIFE, and
eventually we all must
bow and exit in a singly
and orderly fashion.
But who says we can’t take
some intermissions from these
plasticine vessels that
have been molded for us by
an unimaginative sculptor,
whose only thought is of
stability-a break from the
norm, if you will-to be
refreshed by drink and
smoke cigarettes. Hey
the actors are doing it,
so why can’t I?
The lobby is where the action
is; real people discussing real lives
in the real world, vibrant gossip of
who’s sleeping with whom, and talk
that could impact the outside world if
only linked-up on a live satellite hook-up.
So while we are there, awaken poetry
and get it off to school, and please help me
find the childhood I left behind.
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