Once. . . .

There once was a child who spoke in dreams.  The meaning the understanding in rivers and streams. The child was one with all that they saw.  The light was a ghost the darkness a claw.  Words were extinct and unable to bear weight. The sounds incomplete not expressing the core of what to make. Every day the most complex tale in a blade of grass. Patterns too great that simplicity has made crass. While I see a shape that bares little meaning. The child sees a world awash in feeling. In each molecule a universe lives.  In every speck another side it gives.

There once was a child who spoke without sound.  In each crinkle of their brow a book was bound. Most sounds are too harsh for the delicacy of thought. They interfere with the true meaning which is sought. The light brought colors that were outside of the spectrum. The beauty and brilliance was far beyond the conceived doldrums. The essence so bright it can’t be undone.  While I see a shade too faint to run. The child sees a glow that rivals the sun.  An experience of life that is second to none.

There once was a child who saw without eyes. In the core of their being they were free of all ties. The world was not bound by the limitations of mere men. What they saw went beyond the confines of sin.  Were we so lucky to see as that one does.  To know life as again as the gift it once was. To see the world without labels, boundaries or walls. To live once again complete not fractured but in alls.