PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There was a time, I remember it,
when playing outside
meant happiness
 and friends dashed about
in endless streams of
 voices that I gathered
 with each
 and every day of
 my boyhood.
There was a place, I see it,
 where magic happened
 and tonsils were removed
 as a matter of fact.
 Little boys running,
lost in the never-ending
 pretending.
There was education, I still feel it,
 shoved down the
 throats of children
who have been
conditioned to
 forget the mystery
 of life and adventures.
 Instead
 the shackles of conformity
 are insisted upon.
 There is a time, I live it,
 when I wonder what became
 of the boy that ran
 happily into mud, building forts
 and playing games.
 There is a world
 that is afraid of children,
for in their eyes stands
 the hypocrisy of our
 lives.