Child's Last Play

A poem about recognizing that the gates to childhood and naivety,are no longer something an adult can grasp. A realization that when it comes to life one either soars or sinks into nothingness.

Gently, my hands find rose lips pursed
and softly the sun echoes soft hues of rouge…

But, this is not mine.

Suddenly, porcelain legs curl, unraveling
pink silk with the fall of gold bangles….

Clattering loudly,
I firmly grab  at a cold shell,
my chest heaves soft white,
with two embedded rubies, gently glinting back against the sun.

Tears like, streaming sapphire stars fall rapidly,
and my heart races in time with each falling star…

Pitter, patter, pitter patter, I’ve lost the round sphere
in the faint flush of skin that became torn from gentle fabric.

Immediately, the meadow of roses no longer exists.
The petals dance about soon afterward, become nothing,
a simple after image in this tumultuous mind…

Lain among a ravaging sea of blue,
the hue so soft of pink dies….

Pitter, patter, pitter patter, can you hear my heart beat…?
The tears have stopped, and I wonder where in this black void
is my soul fleeing to…

Then the bangles, made of gold, flicker out of sight.
but, fine silver hair not submerged in blue, lays out
a vibrant halo.

Long strands of silver dance in and out of a dolls body,
a vibrant sight, for her, for me.
 I see that within the sea of tears
there still exists light…

And as I close my eyes, and become her,
I stand, miraculously, by the rouge sphere…

No longer present, just a doll drifting by….

Pitter, patter�"huh?

The heart falters, and falls gently like bangles.

I have wings now, as I was truly just a lost dove,
made of porcelain, and silver thread… entrapped by pink silk.

Author's Note

Please ignore punctuation and grammar

Reviews

[Shivalik Kalsotra]

wonderful concept and very well written, I loved the idea and the way it's expressed...imaginative and bravo...superlike

[Frieda P]

This reminds me of Kahlil Gibran when he speaks of children...

'their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams'

As we grow older we lose our sense of wonderment, but we can never go back to those glory days of childhood, we can merely try to soar as we once would...'entrapped by pink silk'...superb finish!

[songstress]

I'm sorry for the late reply, it's been a busy day. But, thank you once aagain for the kind review. I haven't read of Gibran, but that one verse sounds interesting. If you don't mind, do you know his background? I'd like to hear more of him. But, regardless of whether or not you divulge, I will probably look him up. But, thank you, nonethless, for the kind words.

[Frieda P]

He's an artist, poet and a writer, his book the Prophet is an inspirational read, I've been reading his work since I was a kid...I think you'd enjoy it.