Innocent Still

There was a time

when our laughter scaled those hills

that our little feet couldn't reach.


For we were giants of ambition

with senses tuned to wonder,

cosmic hosts to a million personas

dancing free beneath

a confluence of sun and skin.



I remember those afternoons,

streaming through the canopy,

When David wove the clouds

into pillows for our thoughts and

I made a bed of Pa's endless lap,

our bellies full of ma's magic

as she sang of home.


No strangers to the tragic,

our tempers swelled and thundered

and tears in torrents did come,

But we were innocent still,

smiling by morning

after every bitter pill.


But there were no signs of warning

as our skin and bones stretched

and the lottery of life unravelled.

We found our hearts heavy

with an inheritance of woe

and our eyes came to find shackles

where they were none before.


And after years in a neon haze, I've come to see,

my pulse surrendered to machinery,

The monetization of our dreams

into a cold network of revenue streams,

Depleted wells of compassion

amid deep unconscious self-obsession,

Where our eyes are trained to difference,

Where war is a righteous path

and the earth a mere limitation.

As only the lure of distant stars will satiate.

this estranging hunger.


And I yet ask myself, if we are innocent still?

For is there not beyond the shadows

of our being, a glistening spark?

Persisting in our child's eye,

Still playful and loving, longing

only for the thread

to weave a fabric of hope

that all hearts can touch.


And tonight I wonder

If there will be a time once more,

when our laughter scales those hills

that our little feet couldn't reach

and sing as ma did, of home...