Refraction.

The Children.

I saw the children out on the grass,
Kicking a ball back and forth.
The Winter sun was long gone,
But the glow of the lampposts
Seemed to be enough -
Their carefree laughter
Travelled with the breeze,
And suddenly it did not seem so cold
Upon my face, my hands, my ears:
It was pleasant, until I wondered
What it was like to be them.
I was never one of those children -
Never carefree, the storm that I weathered
Was not one in which
The game could go on.
Try as I might, there are aspects of youth
That cannot be reclaimed:
The innocence, the ease with which amusement came,
An enthusiasm, the sort of faith in humanity
That one would need
To go out into this neighbourhood to play football
In the dark.
It is that naïveté, that hope, that lack of fear -
How naturally it comes.
There is a blissful lack of self-awareness...
I wonder what it is like to be them;
They do not think to question what it is like
To be me, and whilst that day will likely come,
I smile as the breeze carries their laughter to me.
I smile because those children may wonder,
But shall never truly know - what it is like to be me.