Welling Memories

Tears welled in my eyes,
As I thought,
Of memories long gone,
Memories that still linger.

I was once,
A small boy of pity,
Who was helpless,
And depended, for support, on mother.

When the boy next door,
Came brandishing his fist,
I scurried to mother calling,
And only insulted at her side.

I was jeered at,
By other boys,
Who had the energy to waste,
Playing their dirty paper ball!

The slightest,
Bullying and punching,
Broke my heart of glass,
And hot tears streamed my cheeks.

How vulnerable I was,
How puerile, really,
Least did I know,
It was the 'naturalest' of things.

But now I am old,
I know it so very well,
That struggle is the purpose,
Of our mortal lives.

That is the lesson,
Of growing from childhood,
To the 'adult world',
I know it only too well.