Growing Up

There is nothing we have to do and too much,

We are vexed

By the mysteries of interpretation;

A good discription

Of growing up.

It's like we might not be wanted in this world at all

But in whose pocket

Is locked

The secrecy of life.

For some unknown reason,

Such reasons are usually unkown,

We are delivered to life;

It doesn't come to us.


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