Children

A man without a child
Is a life without a future
More than once,
Miracles have gone unwelcomed
And it is left to a falsehood
Conception of the mind
I have many children
All without a name
For, in truth,
None are of me
They were here long before I
Or anyone
But they are my adopted children
Nonetheless
Absolutes of what should be
Ideas, older than life itself
But is there love?
Is there value in the eternal?
My children don’t need, nor want
My protection
Abuse them with your words.
They will exist alongside
The dust of your bones
And mine alike
They do have heart, though
Enough to be
Ever-present
If only, truly
If they possessed great diplomacy
Or the will of a tyrant
Maybe I could be closer with my children
Closer than a mere thought away.

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