Progression

 

The world begins:

Light shining through,

Every sight a splendor.

Love and joy,

The only true emotions

The small child is capable

Of grasping.

So innocent and hopeful,

So unblemished and angelic.

 

He grows,

Becoming older,

Less perfect,

Less pure,

Less adored,

Just… less.

 

The coins clatter

In the hands

Of the man

Who used to be

That child

(That innocent, untainted, virtuous, perfect child

Who was praised incessantly).

The corrupting, adulterating, demeaning, deceitful coins

Merely a symbol of his greed,

His voracity,

His gluttony,

His indulgence,

The cupidity of the man

Who was once the perfect child.

 

He ages,

Realizing his mistakes

As his wisdom grows.

Unable to make up for them

In the short time he has left,

All he is able to do now

Is long for the past

(Too nostalgic, like old men are apt to be;

At least in the eyes of the foolish youth)

And hope that the future

(For he cannot help his indulgence

In this one imprudent fantasy)

Will be more kind.

Reviews

[Rita]

It's sad how we keep running throughout our lives...

and finally slow down when it's too late.

Wisdom seems to knock on our doors, only after we've stumbled.

Great poem!

[Andromeda]

i love how your poems always have a moral--it makes me happy. and satisfied. and all that jazz.

[Stonewall]

Indeed, as self awareness grows we do begin to be troubled by the way we satisfy our needs and wants, and in time come to regret it.

I think you have left out a word here "(Too nostalgic, like old men are apt to be;
At least in the of the foolish youth)"

I like the way you described the growing boy as becoming "just less", i think this can be very true, but it is only less perhaps when compared to the unrealistic expectations or aspirations held for him, in the end, none are more important than his own sense of rightness and fulfillment.

I liked your punctuation, I have trouble reading poetry without punctuation. This piece made me think. Great work.