This kid is cursed to observe
His forever-changing surroundings.
Endlessly expounding to preserve
That which is already abounding.
It’s useless and absurd
How he carves his every word
To perfection with practiced inflection
—Yet this art is not a dream deferred.
For there’s a falsified respect
Given to that which is unknown.
It gives hope that if we reflect
On the simple and pure, Life itself is shown.
But Life has hid itself away
Far from this kid’s poetic endeavor.
His poems wither and his writings fade,
But the word of God stands forever.