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Child

A poem about childhood

4
Child
Courtney Graves

Child

Is the hand against my cheek

The whispers of fairies’ wings

That send me off to sleep


Child

Is the forest where my bare feet caress cold moss

Where my bare skin meets the soft trickle of a stream

Winding through the green of summer

Stopping through the white of winter

But Going going all the time


Child

Is the eye unclouded

The imagination running wild

The dream within a dream

The peace that comes without trying

The chaos that comes with intention

The balance that henceforth ensues


But child

Is the knowing look

The incipient plague

The lack of the savoir-faire

Needed to survive

In a world that does not see a child

But sees something to be used

In this cataclysm of a life

This dusk without a dawn


But child

Is the cold dark room

Filled with noise and secrets

Dark circles under those unclouded eyes now clouded

A bloodied lip

A charred mind amid the ashes of a broken home

Clinging to imagination

Clinging to the hope

That God will listen

To these small hands

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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