# Innocence


You fled from me as the hypnotic charm did from February that year

That year, still amongst the age of fluffiness and lush green gardens

I see you with marbles in your hand and true happiness in your eyes

I hear you clinging to the crochet wood calling to me

Always calling to me; sweetly, softly


With bare feet you were veiled under the falling leaves

Without a word, without as much as a black and white ending

A bleeding heart and a single tear behind the moving glass

Left with the marble in my hand and a montage flickering behind my eyes

Always calling to me; rudely, harshly


An empty swing, an empty house beyond the fence

The plentiful garden was dwindling as the shimmering filter was removed

True sight came to the young blind, as mature mouths remained shut

Left with the marble which did not cushion the hurt to my eyes

Always calling to me; nightly, daily


Our mouths must be thrust ajar, one must relinquish

The pricking, solitary cold compelled me to surrender and take pen to paper

With the marble in one hand and thawed snowflakes upon my rosy cheeks

I spill to you

“Where did you go?”

“Remember you would call to me, always call to me; sweetly, softly?”

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