The Half Life of Romantium

Take a fragile shell of base metal
Iron, or lead will do nicely for a first attempt
Then find somewhere to keep it
While the experiment progresses
Prop it against a shady frame
Darkened doorways work well, then
Seal it with the finest salt water
Washing repeatedly until all planes
Have been carefully soaked in brine
Set it aside to drip-dry on a doormat
Paying careful attention to placement
More progress is made in the hours
When darkness covers the sun’s curve
Applying topical heat at intervals
Until the surface shines with salt specks
Carve your initials into this skin
Making the cuts deep, clean, even
You should still be able to see them
A clear inscription In fifty years or so,
Once things have cooled to room temperature

Kidulthood

This is written for all those among us who had to play two parts at once, that of the child, the so-called dependent, and the often contradictory role of the full-time carer.

I pity those people
Who never were children
Who never knew life at its best

When rules were unknown
All the days seeming golden
Decisions meant – wearing a vest?

Maturity settled
Like dust on their shoulders
Through circumstance beyond control

And taking the reins
In the place of one, older
They gave up this part of their soul

So small wonder, the faces
In various places
Seem aged beyond years on this Earth

It’s hard for a kid
Doing all that we did
While absorbing an adult’s self-worth

To turn, or to lay them out well?

The spoiled child is a great burden, and one which does not know how to carry others.  The weight of the world’s perceived expectation may prove too much for those narrow shoulders.  The very mass of their own fancies may yet oppress them, and, shamefaced and fearful, they crumble, unable to comprehend the sudden power vacuum that occurs when their providers are no longer there to do the hard work on their behalf.  It is sadly our own unwitting folly that renders those we have need of, those who were born to lead us toward a better future, into lazy, bitter, faithless followers.  Something must change, or with the weight of their burdens, the blindly oppressed will be driven into their graves by those they work so hard to support.