On innocence

Inspired by watching children playing in front of my house.

On Innocence

 

Near the nostalgic nether of my thoughts

Wherein the weathered edifices of white marble are wrought

Into echoes of ethereal pasts, wringing their hands

For seeing the flight of free flocks, on thermals of infantile innocence

I set my eyes on their swaying path through the ashen skies of remembrance

On top my feet, eddies of tide water bring yet more of time’s sand.

 

Complicit crumbs, a child’s footprints, an incorporeal laughter.

The waves well up, wash them away, and all is quieter.

A truth taken, or merely a tale told in the middle of a tepid night?

A memories resurrection, A small echo in the morning light.

The echo, lyre in hand, a nostalgic song of lighter times.

Yet, does the lyre lie--a litany to a lore, never really there?

 

But on this beach beset by echoes of before.

Cut from the cacophony, what echo could compare to this child’s cackle?

Insolent innocence, endearing idiocy of an image of a child

I know I never truly was.