The Wheatfields East of Eden

There is no place for them to go,
where kids forever play—
to never die, or wonder why,
under the sun they lay.

By the Sea, who’s soliloquy,
is but the sound of sand.
In their dreams, the children sing,
sweet songs in Neverland.
There’s nowhere for us to go,
where kids forever laugh.

Where clouds in slender listless trails,
drift by like sleepy carousels,
and children watch them pass.
Every night, by candle light,
to pray, they fold their hands.
and sing sweet hymns, for Seraphim,

to take them to Neverland.
There is no Neverland for them,
where they forever play.
And their fair skin, will soon begin,
to peel and flake away.

Like breath against a mirror fades,
the leaves against the wind are laid,
and left to lie, like Peter Pan,
afraid to tell the children,
that there is no Neverland.