In some corner where light never reaches is a little child hiding.
Those that never had been hiding in that corner never will know what is to touch fear with little fingers, wanting, hoping, wishing wishing wishing with closed eyes that that think go away...the uncaring ones.
Drowing is despair waters
are many children,
like butterflies
with tired wings,
with mothers that not care
if nightmares
are invading
their children cribs.
This is so melancholy, Georg. Your metaphor of children as butterflies is very good -- sad to think of the desolate ones with tired wings and mothers who do not care. Very well expressed, my friend. You make us 'feel' your words.
Love,
CJ
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
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Love,
CJ