Children Are Timebombs

They run and play
and fall and scar
their bodies on the earth.
Little children,
Corrupted future,
Don't know what's in store.

Let them Laugh
For a few short years,
Let them cry
for just the little things.
One day mommy won't come home,
won't come home.

They live inside a bubble life.
A glowing shine on a dark cold world.
Eyes that don't see missery,
or pain,
or hate,
or guilt.

Soon their scraped knees will heal
and scratches on the soul will replace.
Life will lick their innocence
and leave them cold and used.
They will join the rest of us;
Waiting for mommy to come home,
to come home.