The Children

Why are our memories so sparse?
In the first few years, fighting for the meaning
Of the years yet to come, we didn’t ask to crawl,
To walk, to run, to learn the footsteps of this world
When we couldn’t even express ourselves, except
In gurgling tones of misunderstanding, mother, why am I here?

And you laugh, mother and father and grandparents
At the display of cognitive thought, you are excited
At what you have brought to life, never mind the strife
Some of us feel on the inside, we were cooked in the seas
Of creation, a one way station it would appear, there is no
Way to crawl back to non-existence, we were there, now we’re here

We didn’t ask to be, it was a remedy of disaster, a sign
You say of your love, a bundle of joy sent from above that
Would change the course of history, yet all that time we suffer
Through the mystery, unknown to your compartmentalized minds
We were aware of it all of the time, mother, why am I here?

Raise your champagne flutes, drink your beers, reminisce about
The beauty of life, cheer, live, laugh, we wonder if you have
Escaped the plan that was drafted for you, or did you simply
Become delusional to the truth, the greater scheme, the scheme
Of you, and we walk and we talk, we learn and we die, we once
Awoke with a cry of mother why am I here?

Time passes, it passes slowly, like the ebb of a river turning
And this question, this puzzle it burns through me,
And you are feeble now, not strong enough to handle the
Creased brow, the pursed lips, the plea for sanity, we are the eclipse
To your once happy ever after, we smother the tears and mask
The anger, and in your dying breath you say with a smile,

You are here because you are my child


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