For The Children Poem by Kevin Patrick

Children are the plagues of our vanity
Their sole purpose is to be our genes life insurance
And our reproductive handcuffs to mortality

Its easy to hate them, there everything we are
Spoiled, stupid selfish creatures, living to play
Without burdens of conscience or chain of responsibility

No neurosis from duty, just a clue of melancholia
It's all skipping ropes and paddy cakes
And the brutal slaughter in the playground jungle


Oh, there brutal in their gangs, like hyenas in cliques
Always looking for the week to chew the easy meat
Those school yard days were Darwin's law in action

Their Immune to their illusions of youth
Safe in their bulletproof contraception
of their own immutable immortality.


Time and space bend differently for them
One year, two years or three translate into
An infinitesimal eternity of boredom

They don't know the weight of life
Piling panic and terror with greater concrete
Until your drowning in a padded mask

But they will grow up, and they will suffer
And their dreams and ambitions slowly turn to ash
And they'll fit into our skins as their innocence dies


And then we will smile as their childhood burns