For the child never gave up.
He always followed the rainbow on rainy days,
imagined angels sprinkling freckles on his skin.
He believed in the magic of Jack's beans,
he saw the purity in flowers,
he listened to seashells,
he cherished his mother's smell
and saw his father fly.
But she, now all grown up, knew that hope fades,
rainbows are not real,
freckles are moles,
Jack is just a fairytale,
flowers die,
seashells do not speak,
her mother's smell faded
and her father's wings broke.
There is no place for hope in a world. where love is rarely seen.
Maybe when the sun wakes up,
Hope will too.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
For the child never gave up.
He always followed the rainbow on rainy days,
imagined angels sprinkling freckles on his skin.
He believed in the magic of Jack's beans,
he saw the purity in flowers,
he listened to seashells,
he cherished his mother's smell
and saw his father fly.
But she, now all grown up, knew that hope fades,
rainbows are not real,
freckles are moles,
Jack is just a fairytale,
flowers die,
seashells do not speak,
her mother's smell faded
and her father's wings broke.
There is no place for hope in a world. where love is rarely seen.
Maybe when the sun wakes up,
Hope will too.
l.a
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