evolution

The children are crying crayon tears
and every pool of innocence mimes the imperfection
of the hollow condolences
uttered by yesterday's generation,
already ruined by fear.

the tissue sillhouettes
hang in the window where they are a mirror
of crinkling lives
lived out by the sinlessness
that slowly rains away.

years go by
marked by blurred air.
children grow up in the devastated motions
of their parents' mistakes.
nobody watches the paper cutouts
as they slowly brown and curl.

the end of the spiral
of disillusioned time
is the day when the children-
maimed, bruised, broken-
help their own children
cry crayon tears of their own,
and every pool of childlike innocence
mimes the imperfection
of another generation.

somewhere, in a window
as thick as forever,
one more season
of paper dolls flutters down
to decay like rusting leaves
in the fall.