Innocence Lost

by TS S. Fulk

the babe cries for his mom

yearning for the only 

comfort that they can know

searching for completion

of all their desires

in the bosom of love

how peculiar that the more we

prosper and mature the more we

revert to an age of lesser 

complexity with its simpler

needs and wants and its well defined

terms of fulfillment and pleasure

an age that we left willingly

perhaps even though fear made us

to replace the bosom

I hold my hand out in the dark