Everything passes. It has to. That's the beauty and tragedy of it.
Toothless infants, in their blissful ignorance,
Know not the weird ways of the world.
Unaware of the chortling chaos around,
They lie in their cribs, peacefully curled.
Their treasure-chests hold no gemstones bright,
Nor are they greedy gatherers of gold.
They prize not all the wealth of the world.
For, sweet innocence is all their hearts hold.
But the world is indeed a ruthless teacher.
Its ways are passed from father to son.
Like an unending legacy, wrapped in falsities,
Relentlessly, tirelessly, thus life goes on.
And in fertile, young minds, are deftly sown,
The seeds of avarice, spite and vengeance.
Where hypocrisy is donned like a righteous cloak,
And age triumphs as the thief of innocence…