The mind of a child is innocent,
through the eyes of an adult it is ignorant,
stuck in the middle,
like the earth in an eclipse,
my being protects the innocent ignorance in the shadow,
while the ignorant innocence is shined upon.
Belief?
Beliefs state my choices as wrong,
but what are beliefs,
when the idea in itself
is a fading etymology, manipulated by society.
The belief of yesterday, is the myth of today,
the forbidden words of tomorrow.
Where am I to stand-
as I tumble back and forth,
the wheels of a wagon,
under the weight of it’s travelers.
Stuck in a puddle, it’s thrown out,
rooted to the ground, you are plucked out.
Hence why the sky spreads out vast,
filled yet always empty-
birds and creatures unlike,
wings out, soaring high and low,
to the sun and across cloud.
If only I could trade these sticks,
for feathers of tonnes,
but the land is home, I cannot leave.
Another tumble, another turn, head in the ground,
the sky- not a limit now.
In this twisted growth, branches buried deep,
with my spare limbs I root in all the ideologies-
passing by or there to stay,
it does not matter for I cannot be removed,
a weed is a lost plant growing,
I am a tree with purpose and a promise,
to the child once shielded-
you can hold your innocence,
the adult ought to learn the ways out of ignorance.