There was a child went forth every day,
That became what she saw
And saw what she became.
Little fluttering wings, like candy-
Evaded her tiny hands, always grasping
To reach what she has not yet learned to grab.
Purple blossoms cascaded the delicate feet-
So sensitive to the tickling
Of the Earth's emerald carpet.
This all became one with the child,
Who went forth into it
Every childhood day.
Mocked laughter consuming her thoughts
As she draws a picture
In her lone sandbox
(secreted by her passion-yet taunted).
The shrill voices of ridicule and torment
Forever ensnare her sadness.
A sharp glance at the world she left behind
And a cynical view to the front,
She watches with caution
At every move
Caution is the key, even with this new friend
(why is she so clumsy?)
She will be different.
And perhaps that special someone
Has already glanced her way-
(But not knowing which way
Or when to plant)
That fateful kiss.
The memory of uncertainty, shall always be
Forever and always she will see,
that reflection in the mirror
fading into dark lightalways becoming more a part of her.
A poem written for my friend Rin for her English assignment. It's based off of Walt Whitman's style, although the subject was to make a poem about your child growing up and using his piece "A Child Went Forth" as a basis.
I don't think I did too badly, considering I used my own style alone with a bit of Emily Dickinson's (the dashes).