In a Child’s Awakening

Silver crescents of flower petals,
are blown in the wind,
every-time we speak;
We wish on shooting stars,
for a shot at something;
There is so much destruction,
our wants bring,
When we are born,
from just a thought;
Or reborn into djinns;
Us and our world, adapting,
to bring, us newer coincidences,
Amber horizons or gleeful riches,
that we frisk free from languid dreams;
Release them of worldly meaning;
Compose a song,
with an temporary ring;
Place our shackles of choices,
every escaping scream;
Then when life is budding,
its veins are deepening,
vice sharpening;
We still grope on angel wings,
bring them down, while we are at it,
and laugh in doing;
Never changing what being human seems;
Every recourse is on our bidding;
We are prepared, we know of it;
Nothing is balanced
Nothing blissful in a child’s awakening.

© soulreserve 2015

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