The Song of Growing Up

When children laugh, the world’s a joke,

They chase the wind, they never spoke

Of things too deep or thoughts too wide,

For joy’s a breeze that can’t be tied.

They mock the tears that stain grown cheeks,

Laugh at the sorrow that silence seeks,

"Why cry for songs or stories old?

We’re free! We’re young, and we’re not sold."

They tease the hearts that softly break,

For what’s the worth of a fragile ache?

The grown-up's fuss and always fret,

And shield them from the world’s regret.

But time’s a thief, a quiet friend,

That steals your innocence to end.

The years will paint the face with lines,

And childhood fades like morning pines.

Then, one day, they’ll feel the weight,

The dawn of love that starts too late—

When all that’s left is fleeting grace,

And dreams of youth, now hard to chase.

They’ll cry for songs, for movies too,

And understand what tears can do.

For hearts that age, no longer free,

Can’t save the ones they used to see.

And in those moments, lost and torn,

They’ll see why grown-ups once were worn—

Not weak or foolish, lost in time,

But watching youth’s sweet rhythm climb.

For in the end, the truth will show,

That love and loss are all we know.

The tears we shed, the cries we make,

Are for the lives we cannot wake.