An imminent failure's irreversible haze
encircles our children,
when warm hands thought to protect, prepare and inspire
plot to suffocate them.
Bright tender spirits welcoming tomorrow's hope
betrayed by systems' quest,
purposed to establish a valueless diet
too mature to digest,
purposed to anticipate where minds intersect,
rests quietly in wait
to clinch a firm fist grasping unsuspecting prey
lured with deceptive bait,
purposed to cast wasted wits and defeated dreams
upon lost legacies,
applauds opportunity's bold and prosperous
journeys to foreign seas.
As parents husk in the haze, shedding custody,
angered children lament
demanding the right to be sheltered or rescued
from enemy intent.
Yet young eyes of urgency find in us no haste,
no alarm, no dissent.
And disenchantment fades the fantasies of love,
questioning our intent.
The wintry hands take pleasure in the restlessness.
Hope, now indifference.
There is no reinstatement, no recapture of
the loss of innocence.
But if you cause one of these little ones who trusts
in Me to fall into sin, it would be better for you
to have a large millstone tied around your neck and
be drowned in the depths of the sea.