A little girl in handmade dress. Black shoes with White knee-high stockings. Shy eyes framed By and hiding behind Long curly Blonde locks, Waiting with me at The bus stop Each school morning.
Vulnerable Protected from the harsh Outside world. But nothing can completely Shut out its Cruel essence.
The outside Can creep in or the Inside holds dormant Outside influence Like the eggs of the proverbial tree Lizard laid among eggs in a Bird's nest Remaining dormant to eventually Hatch to feed on the newly born fowl.
Faith soothes the pain By daily standing On the sidelines Of the pantomime Of the mundane
As lush dense Ivy reaches For the sky but must First slowly crawl Over a cold Gray wall of stone Reaching For dreams and ideals Once clearly seen On the horizon of the Unobscured plains Of childhood. A bit harder at the myopic Foothills of youth. Now harder than ever
At the jagged Snowcapped mountains of Adulthood.
The curly locked Little girl still lives After all these years. Lives on to Balance the weight Of disappointments Compressed by daily Reminders of that
Once dormant inside Influence unleashed In the innermost Sanctity of trust. Lives
In the security Of ideals gradually Becoming reality.
That place in the heart That no one can touch That no one can Invade.