Little hands,
Bright eyes,
Your feet run
Everywhere
In wonder.
You joyful little girl.
Blissful-naivity.
Tender-hearted,
Gullibility.
Beautiful.
Beautiful in the sense
That never it seemed
To ever get so dark.
It's lovely, but immature.
I delight in your freedom of wonder,
And constant trusting feet
That followed which may,
Though you followed your lead.
You felt.
You felt real well--
Such sensitivity.
But, oh, immaturity.
Children, children.
We steal in cookie jars
When no one is looking,
But we stand tall
In others presence.
I understand.
But I see what you have invisioned.
Ever since,
From the start.
I loved you,
I love you still.
Flaws, but free
A fire lily
With dreams in your fingers.
And you loved fun as well.
I laugh,
Because I see you starting
With a spurt of determination
That continued with a ridiculous speed.
Then...
You wondered.
Such beauty that is over there!
You loved many things,
Believed that the world was made
Of mostly beauty and marvel.
That's why you dreamed
So much, young child.
But maybe there's more.
I look back.
And yes,
You went after.
But you knew how to journey
And you knew laughter,
And you knew how to have fun,
One after the other.
But I see still,
Still immature,
But yet I see
How you endure...
And makes me question,
And wonder, why?
If I'd rather..?
No?
But ever since,
Ever since,
You really had something,
I can't quite point,
But you show me,
I look back at you
Wondering.
The letters you left me.
YOU ARE READING
War Underneath
PoetryWords and thoughts about things that are fought within the heart, soul, and mind. The flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing; And the dog you choose to feed will win. ~~~~~ Author Note: I will warn you that words can wield just like a sword and t...
