Why do we see the brightest lights of all?

What about the dim ones that seem so, so far?

Like how the darkest moments seem like distant history,

So we sometimes forget how many there still are.

Why do we only hear the adults in the crowd

Is it their height, ability or just their age

What about the little children who would speak up if they could

Let them write full stories, not just half a page.

We celebrate the heroes and the light that's all around

We keep their stories polished and up high, not on the ground

But the shadows of the past are still lurking behind

A story that must be a sad way to remind.