“When childhood dies, its corpses are called adults and they enter society, one of the politer names of hell. That is why we dread children, even if we love them. They show us the state of our decay.”
Brian Aldiss 1971


Banality can be a blessing,
As emotion drains our souls.
What once was not now was.
The past now changed, unsung.

Enjoy the permissive insanity of youth.
Only the preternatural escape youth’s end.
Pound on your breast, hard as you might.
Everyone has our last December.

I will sing of my youth, helps to dispel
The memory of the pain, the crash.
I ate of the apple of knowledge, foolish.
Now I know even less than before.

I waited and waited, yet no revelation.
What did I require to be sated?
Meaning to it all, purpose beyond now?
They never came, I am still waiting.

The beauty of youths suffering,
Gone now, marching of the arms.
It still slumbers inside my stagnancy.
I take it out to pass onto you.

Easy contentment now replaces lost hope.