A Baby's Dimple

A BABY'S DIMPLE Someone out there gets it. Someone out there knows what it feels like writing every line; scraping skin till insides show. Someone out there understands sensations that aren't pain. The stranger calls us desperate but we refuse to hold the name. It's something so much deeper and it's something far too simple. Press the cheeks of babies and voila, it's a dimple. we're transparent in our ways. We allow the lost to stay. I don't know who all I'm speaking of. Perhaps I'll learn another day. We don't count on who we trust, But we'll trust them if we must. We mustn't open up our souls and live life just because. Still we open up our spirits and let inspiration in. We're amused by friends and lovers; day and night; fire and wind. We're captured by specific phrases such as "sin is sin is sin." And we are careful not to cross the curtain and let the prudent win. We're so simple it's amusing. Writing sonnets about the bruising. our intentions are confusing. We'll forever be refusing To accept the facts of losing To people generally accusing. All these rhymes that I am using serve a purpose. We'll keep trying to make a point always knowing that we'll never be perfect.