Sunday, September 10, 2017

Children of the Air

"{They do} not hear;{they} will not look,
Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For, long ago, the truth to say,
{They have} grown up and gone away,
And {they are but children} of air
That linger in the garden there."
~ Robert Louis Stevenson


where do children go when they’re grown? 
the innocent photos of smiling faces
are they all lies?
we are old we are old
to have those babes come back to haunt our elder time
with their cries and the horrors of their wounded souls
begging to be held and enfolded in arms
as the children they once were
and their dervish whirlings in the world
random strikes as of a hundred thousand knives
the darts of hatred
and unfulfilled desires
not our own but somehow left  behind
to twist like daggers in the psyche
fiery paths slicing through brain matter
slicing through what passes for persona
all a Mask of competence
overlying chasms of flame and flood

the tiny cold emptiness expands and
shuts down joy and light
receptors switched off
blot out the mental pictures
loops run endlessly
of more uncomplicated days when smiling faces
cakes and candles
bare legs and superhero cloaks
made unscripted moments of laughter
spontaneous love and pride
Wait! are those shadows?
are those eyes lowered in some secret grief?
so hard to tell
to remember the exact moment

was there more to that afternoon
than sunlight patterns from the trees
than baby steps and childish glee?
looking back I see more
the lack of complication a lie told to self
in the morning of consciousness
before experience clouded
or embellished a life
certain in the knowledge
that the world would be saved by love alone

© 2017 pamela twining


  1. This is simply elegant. Thank you. (Nothing)

    1. Thank you! as Always... i appreciate the input!