Joy, joy! The babe has cried. Regard me well.
I have entered your world, and you welcome me into what you promise
will be a great life.

You hold fast to your word. Infancy is joyous.
I am peaceful, and the world is at peace (for, I am too)
I am loved and the world is one of love.

I mature. I am still at peace.
Stress is a word that I cant spell.
Crime is what the two-dimensional people in the televison set talk of.

I begin to question. Parental love morphs to parental dominance.
We battle. Teenage pressure is my line of defence.
Parental stress is theirs.

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Joy, joy! The babe has cried. I welcome him to a wondrous life.

I am conflicted. Materialism, a belief I cannot follow, for I am unable to keep pace.
Nihilism, a belief I cannot follow, for it makes me irresponsible.
My child grows in a world of people arguing over whose belief must be followed.
I contrast this with my childhood, and realsie it was much the same.

I scorn. My parental love is parental dominance to him.
I contrast this with my childhood, and realsie it was much the same.

I am done. I have accepted that contentment shall forever elude me.
I was born. I have lived. I have regrets.
I am disturbed, yet the world is at peace (despite, that I am not).
I yearn for love, yet there is a paucity of love around me.
I bemoan that we shall never change.

I give up.