Innocence, what is that, that anyone should care? What does it produce but chatter and silliness? Innocence, how wasteful of a life in need of direction. We are here, we are here, bring the child to our doors, we’ll take her from here.
We’ll mold her character and teach her the Way.
Innocence flew off frightened by the noise, the angry words, the tears, the blows that fell upon that soft helpless flesh. Farther and farther it circled, rising up to the windows: finding a broken pane it slipped out and flew away.
On the cement walk three floors below the old school yard a small body lies battered, bloody, dead. Innocence has broken out, free at last, and happy once again laughing among the blue and the white where the free winds blow.
What price freedom? Don’t ask why: you know there was no better way.
I have discovered that many bloggers like to communicate with poetry. Now, I need to admit, here and now, that I’m definitely “poetry challenged” and most poems just zoom right over my head without even experiencing a down draft. Oh, hey, it’s not for lack of trying, but if you’re left handed, there isn’t much you can do with that clumsy right hand. So I’m a left brain poetry reader and I don’t think the left brain was ever designed for that. Be that as it may, I thought I’d throw something in the pot, seeing as it’s a long weekend here and all…
Trigger Warning: not issue oriented, and contains no conspiracies.
My Thoughts and I, a poem
In a wild field I see flowers and a butterfly And in my mind, many thoughts flutter by. Some of those thoughts make me cry, And of those I don’t need to ask why. Then there are those that make me high Not of a drug high but of a sky high. There were some I could shape into a lie And finally, the very last one, made me sigh. In the grass we slept in peace, my thoughts and I.