Inspired by all the adult men who never learned to stop being spoiled children and end up in despair when their facilitators (often parents – dads who went through the same process) are no longer there for them.
Shared with Momoetry April Poet Month challenge – free verse
Title borrowed from Mission of Burma

Bedtime stories, parables of life
on the shelves, still dusty;
rows of cans, of unopened wisdom;
the teachings, the learnings, the Buddhas
– where the father remains…

Left in the hands of the monkish
– scholars, not teachers;
words like paper airplanes
flying overhead, tumbling down
to joyous boyish cries…

All the toys lay broken
– it feels as if the tears will never dry;
in search of the comforts of the womb –
gift givers keep giving gifts
until the boy learns when to cry…

Soon, the world is full of giants,
wandering, aimless and distraught;
– fear distilled into crystal glasses;
a fisheye lens to view a world
that owes nothing…

All the pleasures dull the pain
until the pain becomes the pleasure;
The wisdom trail long disappeared,
black eyes follow from the dark
snapping at heels with impish grins…

Chasing the dopamine dragons,
their fires pierce the thickened skin
twisting deep into the calcified heart
The face savers are dead –
left alone to laugh…
alone…