The Making Of A Child Poem by francis harrison

It all comes back to me now, the painful times I sought to forget;
The anger that I was not in control of me
The many ills of life my young eyes were made to see;
My life would never be the same, that smile u see will always be phony and fake;

I remember how many times I cried, how I sought love in places they might never be found;
How I wished I was different, how I wished I was never born;
They say God has a better plan, but what that was for me was kind of hard to fathom;
Friends to me never existed, just mere figures built up in my imagination

I looked out for help in the wrong places; no one was there to help tie my shoe laces;
I grew up faster than I was conceived, my mind thinking ahead to the day I’ll be free;
I’d sit and talk out loud to myself, my world and future I created in my head;
I just wanted to grow past that phase, become a real man and forget about those days;

Now I’m old enough and it’s still the same, I realise I lost so much in those years I thought was vain;
I find myself longing for those days, longing for a childhood in which all I knew was pain;
I can never run away from it I now see, cos I’ve tried to and always I find;
The making of a man starts with the making of a child...