Younger Self

He stood weeping bitterly as he stared at me,
And I looked back; eyes not believing what I see.

“Do not cry, little fellow. Do not cry my boy. 
All will be well later for, as you will know, life’s but a toy.”

He stared so hard and sobbed for so long
That I, being older, had to remain strong.

My years, education, wisdom and high reason 
All will, no doubt, come into just the right season.

I motioned to my younger self to approach
Without fears, regrets, terrors or reproach.

And sagely, I spoke quietly but with authority,
My arms extended avuncularly and with high certainty.

“Listen, my boy. Fear not what has passed,
Or that which will be or even that which is. 
You see with your own eyes that all will be well. 
All will turn out for the best and life will be good. 
I know what you suffer for your pain was mine, 
And your hurt sat once within me.
But you see, my sweet boy, here, look at me;
All is well and all contended some five or more
Decades gone: I stand before you: whole. 
Unscathed, perfected, contented and alloyed.”

He looked up tearfully
Eyes aglaze
Lips trembling
Nose twitching 
Raised his hand and pointed at me…

“Sir,” said he, for I was well mannered so long ago. 
“Sir, I cry for I see the hurt in your eyes
And the terror in your very soul…
I cry, sir, because I see the future result,
Sir, of being and becoming you. Sir…
I have to leave this world to come to yours
With its cruelties, hypocrisies, double standards and false gods…
I cry, sir, because you are a future full of hurts and wrinkled hatreds.”

I smiled artificially at my younger self. 
Approached him and patted his tousled hair.

Children will see what they wish,
Thought I as I gently walked away.

What can I say that would comfort the poor lad?
He will have to live it all and see that it’s not all that bad…

Is it? Really?