- the innocent child -


I wake into the silent whisper of an elusive morning
as the sun peeks over the
ebony shadow of the hills with the mischievous grin on his face,
like a child peering over the fence and seeing a playful dog on the other side -a neighbor that just wants to play.
The sun sees me, the insomniac, and his liquid rays speak louder than words
of the resplendence of the dawn.
Languidly, I extol my arms, my bare chest
soaking up the warmth of the sun through a
stained-glass window,
painting a crimson rose on my chest
that falls behind me as I stand and walk away.
The mirror welcomes my waking,
its introspection of myself
speaking back the truth -
I wonder what he thinks of me,
seeing him bare and disheveled through the crystal wall.
I don't care if he sees me - I refuse to be ashamed -
everyone looks the same in the morning - in the pseudo-darkness;
Darkness makes everyone the same.
Still lost in thought, reflex splashes cold water on my face -
the shock comes like standing under a mountain waterfall in dead winter
with only your bare flesh to keep you alive -
the day has that certain nip to it -
the bite that reaches out and pinches your cheek
and says - "Hey, wake up! - there is a world beyond the window
and a life to be lived - come, join the sun on the
hillside and dance with the swaying trees as
they rock in the gentle wind and the splendor of the
crown of autumn, flaunting their colored robes
of leaves in the light of the sun; be alive!"
Who can refuse the invitation?
Barely taking the moment to throw on a shirt, I fling myself at the oaken door
and fall into the wind,
the grass twitching between my toes as I dance on the fertile earth,
wonder in the bountiful bosom of Mother Earth
and love the fruits of her labors -
she guides you as you open your heart to the
song of the clouds and the sapphire sky.
Patterns drift through the vast expanse as the
clouds sing in their own language of shapes and morning-colors -
the silent language of images and imagination
that is heard by every child who has taken the time to spend an afternoon
building an immortal memory as he
dreams away time and confusion,
with his back on a grassy hilltop,
his arms stretched out on the earth,
his body embracing the flows of wind,
and his face turned toward the sun
as he dreams of what might be. . .
For a moment, I become that child again - the only memory of a distant past -
A moment of reprieve amidst the swirling chaos of life -
I am the innocent child again;
The innocent child in eternity.


- (c)Scimitar Wraith - GOTHiC -