With our feet firmly planted and our pupils pinned to the sky
we dream. Bones still growing, teeth departing with a yank
and pants that fit us just yesterday, we shout out
to a world that would prefer we remain silent: I am
here, I am the mirror of you many years ago while your spirit faded
into responsibility and speculation. I know now
and you did then. As young and eager souls we flew
our hearts, and our minds were soaring. Children own
the days the grown ones surrendered. Newborns
with their memories beyond the veil, and the mission
of today like a sign post when whimsy seeks
to lead them so very far astray. Born into a world
not of their making; born into a world they will mold
pliable as clay, light as a feather on a breeze of their choosing.

© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019


About theminstrelscitadel

In search of courageous souls who aren't afraid to dig a little deeper and have a conversation about all manner of things. Rant, rave, debate, discuss... let's do it!
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.