What the Boy is Thinking

July 6, 2010
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It's gone.
It always leaves
And rarely does It
Ever return. Though
It leaves, It's always there;
The bud, wanting to blossom
Into something magical but something
Else loves to linger behind, waiting to
Kill It, like a cold-front burning a flower
At its roots, preventing it from growing
Back. It never had the opportunity to
Live but It can not grow, It can
Never blossom. It will always be
Lost.

Whenever It returns, all too soon,
Winter comes with bitter winds and
Fierce, cutting ice, to shivel leaves, to
Burn flowers, to rip the roots out of Its
Foundation. But how to make It linger
For more than Its recent measly moments
Is my current dilemma, a mystery
Of the worst kind still waiting to be solved.
But how to solve it?
How can I make a radiant sun
Dance high to grow and
Remain strong enough to out shine
Any winter wind.
What would I give to have It stay
And ponder in my mind
So It can blossom into something
Beautiful. If I were to have one wish
Come trueit woukd be to allow
It to embedd Itself firmly in my
Foundation as well as that of the
World; for no storm to have the
Ability to remove it; for It to grow
Like a kindling flame, becoming stronger
And brighter as It's fueled with
Childlike imagination and
Limited Dreams and Innocence, so
I may spread It
Through the World.





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