in poetry, writing

Childhood

In a sea of faces
walks a child,
his mind swimming
in a sea of books.
He seems lost
in the reverie
that some call the Schoolyard.

He looks at the children,
smiling, playing, happy.
He is distant,
but not angry or sad,
just different.
There is a moment,
a flicker in his eyes
and out comes the pen,
to write words,
nay, observations,
into his notebook.

He sits in the sidelines,
toiling as hard as
the basketball players,
on rhyming his words.
Sometimes two lines
do not rhyme
and the world seems
like a dark, filthy place.
But then the light
of imagination shines
and the words come rushing.

He dares, he dreams,
he imagines, he infers,
he observes, he opines.
He holds his rhymes dear,
Till one day he will grow up
And grow out of the rhymes
With dulled imagination
and a weary soul
drifting in a sea of adulthood.

But not today!
Today he writes,
today he cherishes,
his energetic soul.
Today is not for worrying.
Today is for the now.
Today is for
Thinking, Dreaming, Hoping.