The Child In Us
playful, runs, and hides
this is the child in me
in us, always in the side
of carelessness,
mistakes, and always
changing dispositions,
the incapacity to hold
anger, and the capacity
always to forget,
enemies now, friends again,
no ambitions, just the toys
and always be with
mother, though father
may come and hug sometimes
and produce memories
unforgotten,
the child in us
the innocence that was lost
the imagination undiscovered
how we wish be be children again
how can we be?
we are about to close the door
it is dark and there is no time
to play anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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