You know my child,
It's like a game,
When you have your own world,
And your own bears,
Dolls and puppets,
And you make them move,
Give them to eat,
And clean them if they need;
Like if you're the God they will never perceive.
You know my child,
It's the same here,
In our home we live,
We eat when we need,
Take care of each other and leave,
We have our thoughts thread
while they stand still,
To make our lives seem logical,
We have that God we merit.
I know my child,
That you have your own fears and dreads,
As we have some doubts indeed;
That you're leaving soon,
And things will become so clear to the bones,
I know that flashlight at the end of the tunnel,
As you and i have always imagined,
That amount of whiteness that blinds the consciousness,
And you're stuck there,
Not able to come over,
Not able to come back,
It's safe there, as i say
you must believe..
I want to tell you my child,
You are the first to arrive,
There must be a lot of similar guys,
And to God,
You are a brave child,
And a beautiful room for you,
Up there,
He has prepared..
I know the last moments are the cure,
That flashlight is just the door,
We and your dolls, are not so concrete,
And all things will become so clear.
YOU ARE READING
Surviving
PoetryShe wanted to survive so she created art. It's not a roman but kind of a short essay. It's about silence and noise, about introverts being forced to extroversion, about the little secret of an introvert. It's simply about a life among billions. All...
