Dreams Not Yet Obscure

The tender little hands have no toys to play, frail fingers draw doll’s crude faces on broken soil of neglect, dry as bone. The famished face doesn’t know how the dance of the summer rains feels, for it’s flooded in the torrent of tear. The colors of sunset on the sinking sky, the hues of remote rainbow spectrum melt away in the pensive moist eyes, for they see the shimmer of sweat streaming down mother’s pallid face, draining her age before time. She is a timid girl of twelve, crimson sunrise in her hazy horizon she hasn’t seen, for when her mother goes out to work her half-closed eyes are still in the cradle of sleep. She holds her hands hanging listless, the sole security she has, the only hope she clutches. She hasn’t ever known what a flower called childhood is, for she hasn’t yet seen the teenage garden blossom. To As she helps her fatigued mother washing and cleaning others’ households, she learns what she needs to do lifelong. Before closing her tired eyes for the night, she looks into the clouded mirror, ties untidy braids with the red ribbon her mother once gave, she sees her dreams not yet obscure. (This is a voice in verse against child labor) November 13, 2019 Contest : 2 To 12 Sponsor : Beth Evans December 30, 2019 Contest : Strand Special 12, Any Form, Any Theme Sponsor : Brian Strand