Null traced young winds of a sixth-year old will,
exhaled the disbanded trait of survival
in search for excharted fertile bud
in search for excharted fertile bud
Being an archer to tip from target to cartels of cartwheeled heels
On taped space, the girl talked on meet,
encircled with fluff plushies,
eyes of wander and bewilderment
A bittersweet cherished pour,
though, not given a permanent identity,
randomized, and always new for every meet.
The young never forgets to include each on tribe
which counts more than just a toy to hang with.
I don’t know what’s the trade that alike piece tend to distance for every boredom surge
but still, here I am, waiting for somebody’s interest to strike, matched with ticked sticks
I just want someone to play with me, or maybe pay,
disregard the difference, it’s the will that matters
but I guess the toys are much more willing to show so I got you, my passions
Everything I do, I love, care of, and make time for.
Of this bubble creation for every venture,
I know it will lead me to “I don’t know but I love it”
‘cause I love it even with no specified where
Maybe I am weird of my own kind and past kite kinships
but I know too that a keen to create a bubble
and to recreate more for another has been the gift,
of guidance, the compass
With this, I know, I never been alone, never been
who do you think who helped to build this haven amidst grief and lone?
From this so called ‘search’ of fun, likes,
and light exploration of passions of this restless wonder breathe child,
from surfaced to unsurfaced, there is a thought of will
to be content on oneself journey and hopefully,
like the hopes in every meet with fluffies,
amidst silence, there is listen
to be content on oneself journey and hopefully,
like the hopes in every meet with fluffies,
amidst silence, there is listen
For every moment, may it be at peace, in verge of outlaw or in edge of shift there is listen.
A passage from Voice 4: Of change
© 2022 Deinty Woodtales