Tin Children

Tears may cleanse the emotional soul,
for now they burn and flood our whole;
essence.

Children's tears are worst to bear,
watching them, they know those who claim to care;
don't.

Hope may spring eternal but,
their last vestige proved infernal;
cowards.

"Mama? What happens when you shine a light on
a cockroach buggy?"
"It runs away, honey;"
puffer's pot.

The last shoulder knighted fled the love,
faced with a thin tin child of hope - fallen like a dove;
by choice.

Hoary hairy people of inflated import -
they weep not for you,
but because of you;
a distinction.

Mother, Father in and out,
beseech thee awaken
the one truly chosen to lead;
time is now of
essence.