I’ve come to think about it; at times it may seem blatant—
why it’s a fact, but indeed we were all children once...
Children: then the innocent; but with time flew the pleasant
gems of the past. I could no longer recall when ‘twas.

Yet somehow the distinction presents itself quite clearly.
All are born without prejudices; they grow to learn
them their own. If anything, sentiments are born merely
from those around us, ‘til one day they can’t be unearned.

Thus I say, when men are born they are without character:
a racist man is not born but is made; likewise, a gentleman
is forged from the furnaces of virtue and integrity. Might there
be some way we can just try—to be children again?

We were all children once… it seems we forget this;
whence comes our innocence, is but a bygone fantasy.

andrew.
i fall to my knees at his feet with a heavy breath.
i almost feel unworthy.
this person, this man-
he's perfection in flesh and blood.
i feel blessed.
this angel, a saint with flaws, perfect flaws.
i nearly worship him.
godlike, i search his face for signs of light, anything celestial or close to it.
i find them faintly, small, unnoticeable to anyone who's wronged him.
he is perfect, and somehow, he is mine.

She neither got white love,
nor got black hate;
there, she decided to be pure
in those few eyes
in which she looked pure
and got all the white love from!

-Thanakarshnni

Hold my hand, I'll walk you through the rainbow.
Up and above the blue the sky.
We'll ride on shooting stars, in circles around the moon.
Eat cotton candy made with the yummiest of the clouds.
We'll dance all night, jump along Venus, Jupiter and Pluto.
Sing along playing the strings of the sun rays.
I'll put you to sleep at the end of the rainbow.
And take you back home with the morning rain drops.

She pressed her palms together
and prayed to be desired with purity,
free from lust and deceit.
“What waits for me behind the horizon line?”

Oh, Ophelia,
sweet cherub
face, bathed
in moonlight,
doe eyes filled
                with woe:

You are a figure
of my affliction,
falling softly at
midnight, a
delicate dis-
position, fragile
                as soft snow,

a garden you
invite me to,
opulent trees of
treason, you
are the siren’s
call at dusk,
pulling me away
from the

                garden
                of
                eden.

Lines on palms
to show direction

to unknown passenger
Van to allow a ride

Life a road
towards You

Eyes to see the path
undiscussed

Ears to listen
words unsaid

Nose to smell
flowers untouched

Life a road
towards You

Feelings to show
purity

Sense to chain the feet
Vision to see you

Wish to talk
to own You

Life a road
towards You

Vision to have
your company

Heart to have You
Hands to solute You

Life a road
towards You