Sometimes,
I wonder how eloquent a strand of hair,
softly dancing on the wind can be,
the quiet innocence of a grin in response
to nothing that has been said - and yet everything that has been implied.
Why is it that
we can no longer sense the sweet dew drops
on our finger tips
and reminisce?
The comfort of our closest friend's embrace,
the wind chimes of that little girl's laughter,
the rose among the weeds.
Have they all melted away into one disinteresting blur?
Too tantalizing and yet too time consuming to recall ---
though,
of course,
time must always be made to galvanize ourselves out of bed at the crack of dawn,
to mindlessly shuffle through our daily duties.
There's just no more incentive, they say,
to take time out of their day
to surround themselves
in lush grass,
To taste the heavy scent of the woods,
to spread your arms out wide at the top of a hill -
any hill, really-
And fuse your soul with the sun.
But I'm here,
like I always will be,
planting my heels deep into the soil of childhood,
deep into the soil of so called less important things in life.
But can't you see?
If his mind rattles within its cage at night-
begging for release,
silently screaming for just ONE exhale,
just ONE moment to unwind-
So, take him by the wrist-
with kindness, dear, only with kindness-
and take him to the shore,
where the seagulls beckon him closer,
and the waves pull him in.
