To Play the Child. . .

For whatever is not made peace with, will piece the person.  It will break them into a million parts, never knowing it can be peaced, nor seeing how they contribute to it all, will leave the adult body still playing the child.

When one operates from a child’s reference point, one does not see one’s contribution to a problem.  And there is nothing within a closed memory that would make us accept responsibility if we are not equal.  It is a mess but how truly remarkable for the protection of the individual .

But how god-awful for those around.

 

 

Kindergarten. . . .

It is kindergarten
this place of play that tells us
that we are just boys
and girls and everyone
wants us to be happy.

And we vow again
like the tinker bell that
we play the girl at heart
and like the peter pan
we will not grow up.

And we are adored
to be just as we are.
Never growing up to do
those things of pain we see.
Never growing up
because to grow up means
to grow old and hurts not only bodies
but feelings we drown in.
There is no one to save us so
to grow old means we die.

We all know that song, don’t we?
There is no fun like ours
when we stay young to play
with the wind in our hair and
someone pushing the swings higher and higher.

Nothing is expected then, is there?
Everyday is a day to play.
And if we are lucky we will die
in our sleep and never have to think.

Where is the fault in that?