this is you,
daily on my heels,
I’ve run from you a thousands times, fearing you,
you’ve been chasing me,
to make peace with me,
to teach me that you are the beginning of my own personal free.
As I sit here, watching a child/children eat cotton candy and work on my next poem, I can’t help but think this;
Who are we becoming?
It’s our duty to hand certain things to up and coming generations and we are failing for many different reasons.
These children are innocent in all this, they haven’t taken anything from anyone, their voices weak and often unheard and we are taking away their future, we are taking away what we have been entrusted to hand down.
From them we are stealing what they have rights too.
They rely on us to be a voice, a voice they can trust, they rely on us to do right by them. To see and speak what is just. They need us to hand them a country, a land healed, a country they can feel safe in. A country that works for them, not against them.
Ive written this poem about a 4 year old boy and his imagination.
I set out to write a story about his parents but this child grab my attention. His patents in the middle of financial hardship, his fathers job lose and the strain placed on the mother, this child’s never land, right out his back door.
“In this place, his bodyweightless, like a child’s rhyme.”
“In this place, paper boats float.”
Hope you enjoy the read