The stories that are never told.
The candles that are never burned.
The sterile home thats frozen cold,
With lessons never learned.
The plastic-bead filled candy jar.
The meager meal, tastless,
Though food abounds and never far,
The safety caution rigorous.
A shield of life against all life?
What mischeif lies herein?
That steals away the joy, the day,
The tales, the toys, the gin?
What theiving villian taries nigh
And blinds the men to light?
Who tells the Noble's sons a lie,
Embalming them in fright?
For we were called to work and strife,
To tears and toil and woe.
But we were made for joyous life,
Victorious peace also.
Our shortened days? They are a gift.
A bless'd, far-sighted tool.
The one who tries to hoard his time?
A pale, cowardly fool.
So will we cower in a cell,
A safely screened captive?
Or will we heed adventure's spell,
And, dying, ever live?
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