Toy Soldier

Tens of hundreds of threads that cannot keep warmth; So I'm paddling in my sheets, Between me and sleep are cats from the neighbourhood whose meows are babies out crying each other in the dark; And once again my waxen heart walks the cold wire of night. I think to myself how strange years decay; How daunting the sound of my voice quakes within my lungs, And how this chin has inflamed into a carpet of bristles and pimples. I think to myself how slow the fragile sprouts of yesterday become forests of today, And realise how soon sons of the hoe become men of the crop; Now that I'm a man with hopes, dreams and responsibilities, I will sorrow not for the suns of my days of youth, But learn to live this fate; Rivers spite not their fates with the sea. The departure of a boy from his parents' house Is the tossing of a sparrow into a violent wind. Life is watching my first steps into this demanding war of adulthood, I don't expect much to come into these sinful hands; For a million dishes there is to wash before one can dine with life, I'm just a toy soldier. 12/07/17 Copyright © All Rights Reserved