Poetic Youth

poor little people children of pain they tell us about it again and again but we can not save them we can't say a word we can't breathe a line of the grief we have heard we open the blanket and bid them come share a moment of comfort we cuddle them there swathed in the rhythem soothed by the rhyme children of chaos waiting in line tell me you love me they whisper in verse this day will consume me the night's even worse give me a morsel of bread soaked in wine to deaden my journey to placate my mind the cold wind is howling so deep in my soul come tell me the secret, how can I grow old?