RELEASING THE SLAVES OF CHILDHOOD

Architects of reform worship standard operating procedures,

And are stronger than dirt as if for the first time,

Yet they may be a danger to themselves.

Professors of mercy, wearing a mask of guilt, send for a genuine thought,

Tumbling through someone else’s consciousness.

Programmers of nature in a moment of perfection laugh at your fears,

As a few hysterical types speak harshly of the right-to-privacy.

Hints of scandal will keep coming back to those fellows who refuse to see and who don’t remember the rules,

Collectors of refusal can’t fathom their personal demons,

Silhouetted against the pain.

Indications are that the clouds of suspicion can’t be expected here as if time had no stop, because they are slaves to the Gods,

The dance of love reminds me of things I’d rather forget,

The Queen is truly saintly, and she controls you with her eyes, she is smarter than I thought,

She says you are beautiful by moonlight and accuses you of love, you can’t resist her invitation.

The Queen is always gossiping, she drones on and on about a secret encounter - but won’t talk about it,

She silently debates the issue with herself and assumes she can’t ask for some guarantees.

Although the location is interesting, she talks about feeling the anticipation because this is the moment she was born for,

Now respect and adoration should be expected as an act of faith releases the slaves of childhood.

~yvonne renee moore