The Child

Stretching his arms wide open
Rising on his toes
Bending his head
Seemingly in time with the fictitious wind
To begin his ascent
To the clouds in the sky

His throat imitating the motor
Of his ride to dreams
As he dodges the
Obstacles of chairs,tables & TV
Ignoring the voices of the sensibles
Heeding attention
Only to the miraculous navigator

Seeing the mischievous child
Behind rebukes & complaints
The grown ups hold back a smile
Along with a melancholy certainty
As he flies on
With his dreams are his high

But alas one day it will fade
When he’ll become one of them
Let go of his high saying
Cause it ain’t real
& life’s not fair

For passion is what is lost
In the wear & tear before death
Only hope we can that
He’ll be the one to say
“I love it still ,
& won’t give up anyway.”


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