As children we bear the directness of trust and truth, and 

that booth of careful watchfulness.

And when they break that trust, so early on, as swansong 

to the humanity they claim,

the child’s desire to pursue the truth always

can go one of three ways.

And one way is sad way, where lies and half-truths replace

the sincerity which

humanity is born with, 

so true; 

an honesty which could make 

so many of us

so much cooler than 

hard-nailed rule.

And a second way is ruthless way, where the abiding

of fierce belief in absolute

frankness becomes a 

painful diary of life lived hurting, and crying and

misery-riding soulless-

ness (alone in core as well as

[he]art …).

And in this second case, the heart of one is

parted twice: first, through the trust broken by

dreadful parents; second, by the lies their hypocrisy 


But a third way does still exist, for those young people 

who still see beyond the missed of foggy

winters and boasted summers.

So trawl and recall

and recover that childhood: that moment of

trust which – before cruel recidivism and

oxidisation decaying –

made you the humanity you wanted to be. 

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