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THE CHILD
THE CHILD
He was a little child with a broad smile
Dark black hair, wavy, like spun silk
A child but precocious
Very intelligent, aged ten I surmised
What scared me about him were
His questions, very mature
Some queries that left me stunned
His questions made me go into places
I did not go into much those days
Questions were scary with no exit
And no conclusions
his queries were like what old men might ask before dying
He asked me, “What is the color of heaven?”
Well, never having been there, I don’t know”, I replied
I told him I I was color blind.
He said, “You’ll be alright. It’ll give you a more profound perception.”
An answer that left me dumbfounded
Now why am I aghast?
It reminds me of yesterday’s scarier moments with him
As most yesterdays contained many horrors I can’t explain
His voice deepened as he aged before his tune
He developed a decease the doctor’s called Progeria
I watched him pass away an old man of fifteen
In my nightmares he came
Looking cadaverous, he scared me to death every night…
Until today when I joined him
he appeared one more time and asked,
Are you ready to look for answers
and off we went... ... ...
Copyright ©
Norberto Franco Cisneros
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