Rebecca Galin The Innocence of a Young Blond BoyThe innocence of a young blond boy
Who, faster and faster, is thrust towards those scarring years
Of puberty
Will he resist the race towards adulthood?
Is he still clinging towards the naïve?
The comforting smell of Snuggle Bear,
Or has he moved towards the deathly “coolness” of Axe?
But what of his hopes, his dreams, his ideals?
Has life poisoned his mind, every memory tarnished like an aging picture frame with new “knowledge” of our confusing, tumultuous lives?
His voice still soars
In those boy soprano notes, filled with clear high tones
Like those of wind chimes
But will it soon warble like an out of tune piano?
And what of his face?
Is it soft, pale, white like a daisy cotton ball cloud?
How soon will it be covered in stubble, the universal sign of a man who needs more sleep?
How long can this angel stay?
When will his sugar cookie color hair turn to a darker, sinister shade of latte?
When will his paper-thin body be smoldered into a muscle suit, turning
Boy to man?
When will his love become lust?
How long can he keep
The innocence of a young blond boy?
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