Nights like these should be written about
Summer, the slow count of the clock
A train, rattling, whistling past
Time itself seems to stop
Nights like these deserve poetry
With words far more elegant and sage
These nights make poets of unlikely people
But not of me, I’m afraid

A night like this deserves clarity
But frankly, my mind is a mess
There are words, tangled, on the tip of my tongue
And all others feel meaningless
The truth is too raw to be beautiful
But beauty is so often a lie
This night deserves better poetry; I
Can’t explain what I’m feeling inside

Child of the Skies
you use to dream so wide
soaring on the graceful winds of change

Child of the Earth
you use to dream so sure
as sure as the ground beneath your feet

but you don’t dream anymore
do you?

Child of the River
you use to dream so soft
kind as the element that gave you life

Child of the Fire
you use to dream so wild
engulfing the world and captivating it at the same time

but you don’t dream anymore
do you?

Child of the Sun
you use to dream so free
never limited in your search for happiness

Child of the Moon
you use to dream so curious
always in wonder with the world around you

but you don’t dream anymore
do you?

Child of the Times
you use to dream about happiness
but as the days rolled by they ripped it away

Child of Humanity
you use to dream about love
but they cut that out of you too young

now, you don’t dream anymore.
now, you are not longer a child.
now, you no longer seek love and happiness.

Child of the World
you use to dream about living
and now you simply survive