Every child, girl or boy,
At the age of ten or so
Discovers what, at least at first,
They wish they didn't know.
There is no God, no Santa Claus,
No fantasies like that,
No rabbits jumping gaily out
From the magician's hat.
Mourn for that child, who mopes and moans,
Wrapped up in their mundanity.
For one who loses all their faith
Must wallow in insanity.
Much better is the child who dons
The thinker's cap and lens,
And hunts through nooks and grassy hills
To find magic again.
I'll admit that I've phoned it in a few times when I've been doing these project, but I promise that all the white space above was actually a conscious choice. It's an experiment in using the empty field of the page to emphasize isolation, loneliness, and disillusionment. Whether it's a successful experiment or not is another matter.
The poem itself is another matter. I'm still not terribly fond of it - and it's a theme I've explored in this very project (maybe even a couple of times now). However, it's time to move on. I'm still behind as is.
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