Quiet Churches, Empty Theatres and Lost Innocence

The nursery school is empty for the night.
The lights our out. Only weak evening sun
shines through the windows, making the
happy animals and bright colors so eerie.
 I’m the youngest, the newest hire here,
so I clean it all up and put it in order, make
it all bright and new again for the happy children
that come here, the only ones who love me.
 Such happy and sweet and innocent children,
so full of magic and dreams and wild thoughts.
There energy carries me through the day, makes
me happy and love life again, until night comes.
 This place is creepy at night, emptied out, like a
church without worshippers and singing, or a theatre
disused and left only for ghosts to sing to the angels.
A place of life without light is a grave with a rictus smile.
 Those children, and the children yet to come, all the children
to be born in whatever time us humans have left to live here,
what will happen to them? Why does corruption and evil find
them out? Why can’t we stay clean and pure? Why must we fall?
 The drizzling rain is coming down, like a quiet cry over wine,
as I go to my little, used car, heading home to be alone and
not, no not, think of the man who left me behind after I gave
him my soul, my heart, my pride, all the good I ever was.
 He was a child once, clean and happy and innocent and pure
as the little boys I care for, who blush when I little girl hugs
them or play knights and have only love in their wild hearts.
He was once innocent. So was I. Look at us now.
 I don’t even make home to my wine before the quiet cry comes.

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