Children of God

The Children of God.
These words are soft-
And complex. What is it
To be children, to be
Adolescent, to be young,
And gullible, to be something
Pure, and wonderful. Well,
it seems to me, that this
cannot be, these things are
Rare here in the land of 'liberty'.

Are we soft and gentle with touch?
Do we show love ever quite enough?
This tenderness of a mother's heart,
Seems quite unlike building walls,
After a winter's Frost. But then
again that something else it
Could mean, that it is something
Hidden, something yet to be seen.

And thinking on movements,
Playing on people's dreams,
Disorientates as if in a forest,
With no starlight for us to gleam,
Are children not in need of guidance?
Of some truth needed to be compelled?
To make the journey worth while,
Over life's rivers and dells.

With these faults, that too often
Cloud the mind of hope, in man,
And in reason. Almost as if
Subject to time out of season.
That all these fears can be
Washed away, gone. That in realizing
This true nature, this divine pun,
It is true we are like children,
As our dust unnoticed swirls,
Past the midday Sun.