"Just Children"

This poem is dedicated to the orphans of Nzinga, a village I lived in during my time in the beautiful country of South Africa. 

It’s the bounce in their steps, the pitch of their voice

It’s the inquisition in their eyes, and the playfulness of their choice.

These are the things that make them children,

They are just children.

So why must they be alone

With nothing in this world to call their own?

Why must they have needs that cannot be met,

And what have they done to deserve this unconscionable debt?

What did I do to deserve the childhood I had,

And where do we draw the line between what is good and what is bad?

I believed every child deserves a chance,

But is seems that chance is nothing more than a matter of circumstance.

It’s the bounce in their steps, the pitch of their voice,

It’s the inquisition in their eyes, and the playfulness of their choice.

These are the things that make them children.

But it is their differences that create a divide.

It’s a game where only the strong will thrive.

Even when you make the best of all that you hold,

You may still end up shoeless in the cold.

So why aren’t all children the same?

I am starting to realize I don’t like this game.

They are just children, but can’t you see?

They are the future, our world’s destiny.