Toys
of wilful grown up boys
who don their peacock finery
and play on weaknesses of need.
They twist the conversations flow
and little know
that deep within
they killed a nightingale.
They chase the moon
and kill the stars
creating fiery prison bars,
and where was once a tranquil stream
becomes a mire of broken dreams.
Then at last the bough will break,
make no mistake
for even willows bend then crack.
Sweet wisdom whispers in the night,
will you submit, or will you fight?
and dignity takes your hand,
it's then you make
that long last stand,
starting your voyage towards the light.
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
's So much to learn by those who are so young.
