Felt a few twitches. Came in a row. Finally, after the last woke our thought process to understand other things were happening, we did realize it had happened. And it’s here, with a yawning moment of veneration for afterthought, come and gone again in a backward way, we asked, “will we be able to ….again” and it turns out so. Give no boundaries to a repeating thought.
It’s a confusing thing to look at a moon. There were no footsteps helping to be heard. Hush little..Don’t say a word. -A young child holds onto the moon from a place within they fear not know again. -Hasn’t it been a nice day. Hasn’t it not yet rained. Haven’t we all had a wonderful time. -While the smiles walk on.
We walk into the shadow of death to pull one wounded child from its depths, to find another daft man standing in the corner. Leaves are shuffling outside my window. A man with a golden heart is gone. Another stands in a room looking. Don’t block me. I am here and at least I have my fingers. The man in the room standing, looking daft, asks for silence because silences never questions. Never says a damn word. The girl with the golden brow would have cared for a word. And the boy with the covers pulled tight would have cared for the same.