Ode to Childhood Things.

 

 Ode to Childhood Things

 

I’m not sure where to go, who to ask, so I’ll write here, and be bold.

                      I am looking for a kind of soul.

                             One who knows the real gold.

                         For there is a sorrow deep inside.

When children no longer can be, and they have to hide.

    When I see their hearts have no place to shine.

And I hold the door open, hoping to keep it alive.

It hurts the most at times, when I, stand here, and I hear children’s hearts cry.

When their goodness takes on gray.

So, here I stand. 

And say a word. 

I know the truth, and point the way.

And so my heart wants to ask, is there an insurance claim that keeps childhood, a clear-looking glass?

Is there some place to file a word, that keeps all hearts open, and children voices always heard?

Is there some divine guard, that keeps paradise safe, and love unscarred?

                         A place that can protect that which is most pure and good.

                             Who will protect childhood?

                           Who will ensure that it is never lost?

                            And it is always kept a sacred spot.

               Where simplicity is loved, and laughter allowed.

                      Where all things flow, in such away, all moments are gathered, all the nows.

              Where dandelions dance, and flowers bloom.

             And possibilities are always bigger than any gloom.

                Where moments are precious, and eyes lock.

        And we see, the worth within love, and we claim that spot.

                        Where every soul remembers its youth.

A place, of undying truth.

I stand like here, and see the young come, and go.

And many times, something takes over, those whom I used to love, and know.

        And I, in my sorrow, of what seems lost. I hold out hope for childhood dreams, and things forgot.

Of all the beautiful moments, of true seeings.

                     Behind the mask, a soul, a child, within, every being.

So please, if someone you knew so well, hides their child.

It’s there.

Look.

For I know them well.

And so do you.

                     See them, even in their decaying state.

                          See the child, behind the ego’s slate.

                                Look, within the cracks of life.

                                See them shining, oh so bright.

                                    Little glimmers of that good.

        That undying soul, of fierce love, that was misunderstood.

                       I hold aloft my heart, my little flag, and say, I make my claim with the childhood land.

                        And insure that spot. And keep it safe.

This land is forever mine, where I choose to stay.

                   I have many secrets, that I cannot tell. But I do know the love, and keep safe my own well.

                        Oh in defense of wild things, I, stand here, and sing, and say, a word. And Sigh.

Oh of unplowed land, and butterfly wings.

Of seemlingly unimportant things.

                  Who will guard, and who will watch? Who will stand in the simple ways, without a manmade watch?

                            Who will wonder, and wander, and saunter, and just be.

                                        Oh, for those untamed bits, and things most cannot see.

                                  Of wind, and rain, and smiling lips.

                                And eyes, and ears, and wings unclipped.

                             Oh, the brave souls who still fly.

I hold their banner high.

I clap, for those who still dare dance.

For things that keep childhood, and loves kiss forever on their lips. 

And give simple things a chance. 

I make my stand with untamed hearts.

For gleaming eyes, and those bravest parts.

For those who love, even when blind.

For those who love, when very little are kind.

For those who give, when no one gives back.

For eyes that shine out love, in darkening times. And see childhood, and make silly rhymes.

                             I root for things most obscure.

For roots, and hidden treasures, and things most pure.

For those who know the value of space.

And those who give, even the most horrid grace.

To those who love peace, and claim that palace. My own dwelling place.

To those who revive the dead, and wake the souls of love, and crown that truth of real goodness upon their head.

I cheer for birds that dare nest in city streets.

                               Of flying geese, that speak of peace.

                                 Of puddles, and rainbows, and shooting stars.

             Of spiders that still spin their webs, within unwelcoming corridors.

                            Of untamed spirits, who dare to try, of mountains that still grow so very high.

                                   To waving wheat, and lightening bugs.  

                                        And dirty hands, and unplanned hugs.

                       To music that might sound off-key. To dancing oh, so freely.

                                Here is my ode, to childhood things.

                               To the brave and quite voice, of love that still beats, and sings.

                            I’ll stand here, in my childish spot.

                      Here it’s not too cold, and not too hot.

                           Where mermaids still swim, and fairies still dance.

                      Where little things are given a big chance.

             Here I see a harvest of souls. A place where few dare go.

                   The space where belief, and magic collide.

                And the moon makes water rise.

       And I’ll keep safe for you, your childhood place, if perhaps, you forget its face.

                I’ll stand here and wait, just outside the door, where imagination lies, and loves beautiful music is written on every score.

                               I’ll sit in the tall grass, and watch the clouds.

                           And if you must go, and make your way in the world, as most choose to do.

                             Remember, I will insure that your childhood space, for me and you.

                                I promised, you, even if you don’t remember the day.

                 I looked into your bright eyes, and saw your soul, we had a lot to say.

                            And cried, when you said you had to go.

                             And ever since, I’ve stayed right here. Guarding childhood, from year to year.

                              And sometimes, in the twilight dim, I hear a wind chime, and let a child come back in.