Stone Child

I always wanted to be child,
A baby without care,
But now my eyes and mind are battered,
The impact broke its fare.

This bitterness I feel,
Is as tart as fresh citrine,
The vengeance that manifests inside,
Will have to be unseen.

For my shoulders carry such a weight,
Decrepit in their curl,
And the child that is locked inside,
Suffocates within the swirl.

And a child is born unable,
To carry such a burden,
And as the little one grows,
It suppresses all the hurting.

But the cynic now has calloused,
Through the mistrust of such leeches,
Disappeared to find the joy,
Amongst the far off reaches.

All that had been buried,
And placed well in the past,
Has regrown itself anew;
Harboured inside metal cast.

And the old year hurt and upset,
It seeps between the cracks,
And spills its molten poison,
And lands upon the back.

And the jaded one within,
Hardens and turns to stone,
And the child that wants to play outside,
Is now inside, alone.

And the work that she had made,
In wanting to enjoy the ride,
Is crystallised forever,
In weighted brow it hides.

The work begins again,
In learning to love as pure,
But in treading toxic water,
It drowns down to the floor.

Who will be the saviour?
To break the stone to shard,
Because a heart repeatedly blackened,
Is meant to stay so hard?

And the colic that has spawned,
Could poison what it sees,
When the treachery of experience,
Is not worthy of such fees.

So take me back to baby,
And leave me innocent,
To find such peace on earth,
Is only heaven sent.