Child, My Child

Looking in the mirror to our childish eyes. Glancing at our little hands on the old grand that was broken because our passion hit without any lies. Dreams of butterflies and muddy feet on the rickey floor. Swore to never be like the other side of the door. Young, to be young, no future that we could see. But we were happy, happy like this. So simple. So free. Years of passing. Changes, but made it through the storm. Trying and triumph with broken glass on the floor. While they poured drinks. And our childish eyes poured these acid tears. Be strong, child. Hide to bury that fear. Years of passing some more. The glass has be cleaned from the passing of before. A front. A fight. This fight to never let lies come within sight. Grown eyes will match, less, but still match ever so often. Grown turn child in that split of an sudden, Remembering the fight that was once fauten. Never a sad sight- those hollow bottles swinging, but could have been worse. Those childish eyes reappear as we look in the mirror of childhood’s remorse.