sandra-hoynacki

Yellow haired children play with summer day wishes
Residual beings in a reversal of their own dreams
Would that the diadems would majestically fall
Into the whirlwind of their fragmented journey

Frangibility abounds in these outstretched hands
Faces of a road-map somewhere back in time
No one to wrap them against the bitterness
Of what will befall them when the sun arises

Weary into the Grey night, they reflect alone
Homeless, mindless, soulless in body
Heads turn away from the orphans
Of yet another tralatitious circumstance