Coming off Mother's milk

Life is like poetry; winds blows feathers  
Freely to the heavens weightless, with no 
Bound of gravity, come fly with me, and fly with me 


Lets feel free, and be free and see this here earth 
As the paradise, that was promised to thee 
When we were young angelic and blissfully blessed  


That landed us into the joyful  gardens of Eden 
Where feathers fly  and weight is weightless 
And the golden sun, creams the land every night at sunset 


Why are all children's poems, rhymes and stories so dark 
Red ridding hood, Humpty dumpty, Pop goes the weasel 
Mary, Mary quite contrary, Sing a song of sixpence 


Have you ever seen the sight, in plain sight
Of a falling angel, dropped by eviction 
From the garden of Eden, like meteorites fall 


The drag me down of feathers wet
With chains by gravity, of living with reality 
Back to earth so fast, absent of golden parachutes 


I guess abstract in some ways, hidden codes
Long before adulthood as children 
In the garden of Eden, in playful grounds  


We were taught with nursery rhymes 
Poems and stories, like old Mother Hubbard, a' Jack and Jill 
To know how dark  and complex the world can be 


But to see a falling angel and feathers with gravity so strong
And have meaning of such hidden codes, in nusery rhymes
Wait until you come off Mother's milk. 

http://brainz.org/24-terrifying-thoughtful-and-absurd-nursery-rhymes-children/

In Between Lives

I will have to call out, the pigeons 
And ask if they would be prepared 
To carry out my wish 


Send a message, from the trenches 
To my love ones 
Tell them I am in-between lives 


Making a transformation  
From what once was  
To what is to be 


This stage reached has been long 
Like an overdue pregnancy 
And I wait impatient for deliverance 


Though I know sometimes on wise thoughts 
I sneeze on rush, results of which 
Scatters my gold dust, among sea sands  


I try to harness the virtue  of patience  
Learning to thread the needle's eye 
I am made of more, much more I know it 


Much more than what I hold  
Loose change so precious 
I fear even losing those sometimes 


Am I to believe the oracle? 
Who looked into my arms and for told   
She giggled like small prints before authoring words 


If so, and I am to take one, in short cuts 
From her  in gifts she offers  
Then another I would be forced to take 


For in her baskets, in prices to pay 
She has within hidden rotten apples 
Just behind the ripest of them all 


So no, I choose to make it on my own 
I only ask if you will be prepared 
To carry out my wish, oh friend of feathers  


Send a message to love ones 
To tell them I am in-between lives 
Closer to deliverance 

Chinese Ageing

The Chinese say, no lie
We are a year plus one on our birthdays 
Nine months before birth, alive and kicking  


The young would love that, adapt that  
Desperate to be legal in shops, and outings 
Desperate to be legal, to show on proof of IDs   


Yearning to have their independence 
While still living under the roof of parental nest  
Yep, the young would love that 


A year plus one, the Chinese say 
Nine months before birth, the Chinese say 
Yet still influenced by the external environment  


Adulthood would hate that 
To an extent, to the point at that age 
Where age is no longer mentioned 


Don't you know it is rude to ask  
This is way past teen years  glide 
You should know better, than to ask 


Such questions of age, such rudeness of insult  
Appearances should tell, wise eyes should see  
Though subtle, still visible, appearances should tell 


Birthday cakes with no numbered age shown 
Random numbers of candles,  it holds 
If you are that inclined  to blow a wish on sentiments  


A year plus one the Chinese say 
Nine months, before birth
A case is made here, the Chinese say 


Yea adulthood would hate that  
And the young would love that 
I guess that is why, we choose to disregard 
A year plus one, to the Chinese reason