Point Of View Of The Children


Bumbling about like bees on the street to a pink house.
As flowing boats bounce from the coast, flowers sprout.
As we walk through the crumbling roads, old and new.
A path into a market filled with torn up furniture.
People living their lives thoroughly in their own way.
Winds spill past a looming shade overcrowding the town.
Astounded over this immerse of a changing surrounding.
There’s a surge of naivety plastered on our faces.
The gloominess leaves us as we walk through the hills.
Life moves slower for just a moment.
Stopping to claw for our attention only for a minute.
We perch ourselves on the fields littered with flowers.
A smack of reality affects us as the adrenaline leaves.
Let’s go back to the picket fences with grass yards.
And a friendly hello.
Let’s run with a shaky vigor for joy.
An embrace that’ll chase us to the same pink parlor.
A boxy, neat neighborhood with eccentric personalities.
With chaotic bursts of joy, untarnished joy.
Walking to a pebbled pathway with a peaceful place.
Lovely little journey, sometimes the days are long.
Stay or leave, for a place with unrecognizable faces.
No familiar faces in this far away land.
Fumbling everywhere on whether we should leave.
The choice to leave has become wary for all of us.

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