Why do you toy with us?

Putting our Golden Years in the

Beginning

with not a care but the

inventions of our heart

and the treadings of our shoes.

without a worry but the games

afoot?

Then you strip me of these privledges?

Your glowing robes,

blown back to reveal black barbs

glistening in the crisp night’s chill.

Enough worries and care to drive a

sane man mad.

Enough worries to drive a

child to tears.

a father, drowning us with

drink.

a mother, struggling to hold

together.

a brother, holding on to each home

as it slipped by.

a sister, searching for

strength.

And me.

a nine-year old trying

to decide what his

place in the

universe is,

forgetting to forget

those troubles for a couple

years.

But forced to,

by you? I wonder,

but I doubt you even

exist.

The only proof

Of your footprints,

Is that, yes,

I do believe,

it took you a mere

seven days to create this world.