There’s an innocence,
Like children playing in graveyards,
That we’ve lost.
and
There’s a wanderlust,
Like a dandelion’s progeny,
That we’ve abandoned.
And
There’s a love,
Like the echoes under eyelids,
That we never forget.
And
There’s a task,
Like sand on an ant’s back,
That we endure.
And
That task,
Like the broken backs before,
Ends
And only when we do.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
There’s an innocence,
Like children playing in graveyards,
That we’ve lost.
and
There’s a wanderlust,
Like a dandelion’s progeny,
That we’ve abandoned.
And
There’s a love,
Like the echoes under eyelids,
That we never forget.
And
There’s a task,
Like sand on an ant’s back,
That we endure.
And
That task,
Like the broken backs before,
Ends
And only when we do.
Saw some frolicking among flowers - three children laughing, an assumed mother crying, and no father to be seen.
