“ The Child In Me ” – held shades of used to be –

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The Child In Me

           – held shades of used to be –

Though many say

He’s but a shadow,

Held shades

Of used to be,

I play their game

But truly feel,

He’s still the same

The child in me…

 

Some even doubt

He still be there,

And more maintain

I am for naught,

The child is gone,

My hopes are fraught

With dreams

Of used to be…

 

But I say not,

I know the child

Yet lives in me,

And always must

As part of man,

From birth

Until that day

We turn to dust…

 

It matters not,

Though but a shade

Of used to be,

I know it’s him,

And so insist

He still exists

The child in me!

                                          written in Vence, Fr.

                                                  © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

A Gathering Storm ~ out of rain ~

‘Tis gathering storm

Of man said human,

Rendered deformed

By duplicitous demon,

Though given be life

As a privileged plus,

Man soon found ways

To turn planet to dust,

Where child eventual

May survive only just,

Thus so but the telling

He’d bow to fate’s say,

Fixed by man’s doing

In orchestrated play,

Distorting life journey

In a world gone astray,

Held to flee or to stand

On a predestined bane,

Of his narcissistic plan

In a gathering storm,

That has run out of rain!

                                                       begs find contradiction in time…!

“ My World ” ~ in retrospect ~

 

What will be left

In retrospect,

Held be my world

Of living things,

Unenviable at best,

Since we allowed

To risk their nest,

Piloted by men

Of gargantuan rapacity,

Apathetic to amend…

 

Thus for unwary child

Who finds not heed,

How will he survive

Man’s destructive seed,

Souring the air he breathes!

 

“ The Child In Me ” ~ tho but a shade ~

It matters not,

Be but a shade

Of used to be,

He does exist

The child in me…

Many will say

It can’t be he,

For what we see

Is but a hint

Of said once be,

I play their game

Knowing full well

He’s still the same…

 

Yet more claim

I am for naught,

The child is gone

Tho I think not,

For we remain 

One and the same…

 

I know the child

Yet lives in me,

As so he must

From birth

Until meant day

One turns to dust!