An Eternal Childhood

An Eternal Childhood

Reality’s lack of intrusion has reduced my mind
To pools of endless folly, and epiphanies unkind.
If we humans can think of words so true,
An endless epic from the vast, knowing blue,
Then isn’t this world a mockery of freedom?
Our Lord’s world was built for reasons of our conjecture,
A home considered so vast.
A powerful race of men presiding over a world meant not to last.
Is this not a prison?
Is this not hell?
In His image we were created, for reasons of our conjecture;
Yet our imperfections are prominent, and our time is waning.
If we humans can think of words so true,
An endless epic from the vast, knowing blue,
Then is He not capable to increase our grace ten-fold,
And create countless Edens, with rivers of gold?
And what if He has, and what if They stare,
With large, perfect eyes, reluctant to care?
There is no doubt we are descendants of sin,
But was there a chance of something more?
What did our Father have in store,
For the Adam and Eve of perfect faith…
Would we be as far gone as we are now?
I doubt it.
I’m mocked constantly by what could be
Our land is nothing compared to what I see
What I know could be.
I wonder, I wonder, why we’re not deserving
Why we’re not worth the trouble of preserving.
I wonder constantly if I am the only one worried
Of nonexistent persons and perfection un-flurried.
I wonder of the thoughts of men,
Do they only see now, or do they too see then?
I want to see now, I’d prefer if I were involved,
In this dying, trying world of ours.
I want to see the beauty that others see
All I see is bleak.

I’m such a fan of the things unattainable
But isn’t that the same with all?
My desires are simply larger than others
But the simplicity in which they can be satiated is mocking me.
The simple change to an outward appearance
Pitiable to some, condoned by others with the same fate.
Yet those who see now and overcome their imperfections—
Enviable, to say the least.
I am vain. And yet I have little beauty.
I am deluded, but my knowledge is wide.
And I believe these things because I believe in Them.
But their existence, like the reasons for ours, is for reasons of my conjecture.
If I wasn’t so insistent on following Them and reveling in Their superiority,
Then it is possible that I too could be enviable.
But I am vain. And because I live in Their world, I believe I am beautiful because of Them.
Because I can’t see now, I see what I believe now is in another place.
If I wasn’t so insistent…
If I thought less of them…
Then maybe I could think more of myself.
If I thought less of myself…
And thought more of Him…
Then maybe I could think more of us all.
Who am I to think that I could be better,
By dreaming with rhetorical beings of perfection?
Why must I be tried so harshly for my need to belong?
Am I belonging to the wrong land?
My disloyalty shames me.
I do my best to see the truth…
But Their land is so readily available
With lives seemingly better than our own.
When did I lose control of my creations…?
When did I begin to think that they really were better…?
How could I be so easily consumed by my own puppets?
Menial I am in this time of night,
Look at what I have become.
I wonder, if we were as wondrous as I think we should be
Would we overcome Him?
Would we want to?
I hope not.
Precautions, precautions, the same things They believe.
Like the men of magic who covet their knowledge,
They all protect Their power.
Maybe that’s it,
Or maybe my puppets were somewhat flawed.
I pray that to be true.
And if Their fabled kisses should torment me tonight,
I’ll spend another night in misery.