The shattered dreams
fall from the sky and
pile, sharp and brilliant,
like tears on the playground.
The lost child with the
innocence of six bends
and cups them in his hands
like a cornered butterfly,
only to have them
melt through his fingers.
Hope cups the boy
in His hands and lifts
him to the sky, saying:
‘You would have the sun
and the moon and
the stars if only
if only you could
hold them.’