Living

I had a bit of inspiration this time. I was reading Walt Whitman for probably the hundredth time, though specifically from Leaves of Grass and I had a urge to write down my thoughts.

Fluttering,

the infants heart like a wayward bird.

Dancing,

the children of the world.

Crying,

the childless mothers.

Screaming,

the men at arms, our brothers.

Waiting,

the always dreaming youth.

Knowing,

those that hold our truth.

Singing,

the choir with their hope.

Dreaming,

the youth that may one day elope.

Falling,

the father who knows no end.

Dieing,

those that, with soul, will transcend.

Renewing,

the child with innocent eyes,

Living,

those who choose to survive.