Golden Child

Where has he gone that golden child?
the boy with stars born in his eyes.
and dreams exploding from young feet 
Learning to running on living streets. 
Each new line on his gentle face
taking him another step away.
Maturity in the weight of days 
and years and the tears of life 
and living, already deep riven 
in his cheeky grin. 

Where has he gone that golden child? 
Has living torn the stars from his eyes 
and have his dreams been crushed 
to dust. 
Has the joy and lust of living 
left him weary and worn.
I see now the shadow of a child 
in his almost grown up smile. 
But at night on a smooth sleeping face, 
no trace then of the man 
he will become. 
Just an echo of a boy standing 
on a precipice. 
Standing between that life and this.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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