Child Play

Whatever happened to the days when child play was as simple as hide-n-seek, monopoly, scrabble, or a game of "go fish"? Whatever happened to the family den, the smell of a worn recliner, and the old dusty sofa accompanied by grandma's old crocheted blanket, a time when kids were kids? A child whom by its very nature appears innocent and void of all sin, what has happened to this child?

No longer is he the apple of his mother eyes, the hopes of his father's dreams. He is no longer sinless, for he has attained great powers. His statue is bigger than life, he is an Icon... This child is wiser than you and I; he has acquired the status symbol that no man will ever dispute. He is the epitome of a godlike creature, made in the likeness of an earthling. Yet, he is wise and cunning, pretentious and babbling in all his ways.

He secretly harbors his youth for that infinite quiet moment, when he can once again cuddle in the loving arms of his mother, he ponders his suckling of the fresh smell as he savor and massages the true life from her seeping breast. He takes his fill as she gently strokes his brow, he is careful not to linger long; for he has acquired the great immortal status of an Icon.

He is free from the bonds and chains that once bound us. He is free to roam distant shores and milky ways. This child who shall conquer the galaxy of wars and great wars? This child who will not feast of blood nor of power, but that of immortality? This child does not belong to this world; he shall not find his resting place in the depth of hell. This child shall not bury the torch and forget his comings. He is an Icon

He is far greater than you and I. He is wise and cunning, pretentious and babbling in all his ways, he is an Icon. Child play is his stage in a world of fools; he forgets not his deeds, nor his will. Age is blindly taught neither in deceit no longer a fraction in passing. He is the true existence of time He is an Icon.