Children

What about the children

Who raises them

Who gives them love

Who gives them hope and dreams to chew on

Who am I to let them breathe into this world

Of poison, disappointments and hedonistic trinkets

I am no better though no worse

And children pure then tainted by my flaws

Make little copies of my evil

Grotesque miniatures of scarce unfinished dreams

I am about to leave my dreams behind

And who am I to burden but a child

With every bit of love I have

With every bit of hate

Vicariously I dream of their unborn dreams coming true

Of braiding their unborn hair

Of reading Harry Potter in the not yet born darkest of the nights

The stars will wait for fair children to be born

Blessed by a luckier star than the one I have been carrying

This weight I have been carrying around - my stupid love

Take out that love

Spit it into a child

They’ll love you back

They’ll care

And then if lucky they will hate you just a bit

And maybe on a Christmas day when you are eighty

Another little one will put in braids

what has survived of your white hair.