Weep For The Children

I weep for the world in which every second
lies mangled beyond recognition in human palms,
plucked from the branch before it has even bloomed--
squeezed of its essence when it could have been wine, given time.
I weep for the world in which children—just children
grow old in spirit before mind, stepping into too big shoes
to pave their way through life without even knowing how
to build a bridge—without even knowing how to live.
I weep for the world in which the moments are rushed,
meaning very little to bright minds until it is too late
and there is no chance to turn back and remember—
no chance to regain all those seconds that your mind
merely paraphrased to fit inside a fragment of your brain.
I weep and weep for children rushing to early graves.