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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Writing · #1253234
I wrote this poem in memory of my childhood.
Creativity of the mind,

As it climbed up the tree,

To build the amazing fort,

And look out at the sea.

Innocense of the soul,

As it made no sense of time,

Money had no meaning,

And words were that of rhyme.

Happiness of the heart,

Made a smile for each day,

Worry was a made-up word,

So come on out and play.

Frailness of the body,

Tender is the touch,

Of the hug that holds on tight,

And the kiss that means so much.

Blindness of the eyes,

Where no color had a name,

Black, white, or yellow,

Everyone looked the same.

Softness was the tongue,

As it said what came to mind,

Descency and loyalty,

Words only the heart could find.

Years are added on,

Bitter becomes the tongue,

Seeing is believing,

Touch is only numb.

Discolored is the heart,

It's only been abused,

The soul is absent, not around,

The mind is too confused.

What happened to the innocense?

When did we lose the time?

The fort still stands up in the tree,

But we have no will to climb.
© Copyright 2007 J. Zyla Miller (staci_27 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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