Poetry2Go

Category: Lyric


What of Our Children

Some cry climate change
Other's say they're deranged.
As the conflict evolves
All our lives are involved.
Who's right or who's wrong?
What's the difference?
What's the true future view,
Is there more we can do,
Before we become past tense?

We ask what, what of our children?
As they grow and we show them a future with no guarantees.
What, what of our children?
Why do they have to pay for our past generations' misdeeds?

There's so much confusion
Over lies and collusion.
Years teaching them right
Lessons lost overnight.
They see others lie with impunity.
What's wrong becomes right
Simply blow out the light
Darkness perverts civility

We ask what, what of our children?
As they grow and we show them a future with no guarantees.
What, what of our children?
Why do they have to pay for our past generations' misdeeds?

No!  What of our children?

What?  Why do you lie?
True science deny?
What of our children?

What?  Why do you fight!
Wrong becomes right?
What of our children?

What?  Why do you hate?
It's almost too late!
What of our children?

What of our children?
What of our...
What of...
What...
?

© 2019 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved

Poetry notes:
04/21/2019

Poetry form:  Lyric

Inspiration for this poem came from Hell is For Children, sung by Pat Benatar.  Songwriters: Neil Giraldo | Patricia Benatar | Roger Capps | 1980 First Release


 

My kitchen time ending, dishes drying in stacks
My family is telling me it’s time to relax
In the background are voices urging me to stay
So I pause, wait and listen for one more lovely thing
That my friends and family might say...

My kitchen is filled, with the smell of fresh pie
Made year after year, from old and new recipes
The air fills my lungs, with the smell of fresh pie
My mouth wants to eat every pie it sees

My mouth wants to eat like the child
Who experiences pie the first time in their life
My mouth wants to savor fresh aroma of pie
From the oven before cut by the knife
To boldly eat pie like the person who won't let calories get in their way
To eat, through the night, like an inmate released the next day

I go to my kitchen when I’m good and hungry
I know I will eat, like I’ve eaten before
My kitchen is blessed with the smell of fresh pie
And I’ll eat one more

 

Copyright © 2018 Mark Toney | All Rights Reserve

12/08/2019 Michelle Faulkner’s Punny Pies Contest

 

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