What happens to our child, our inner voice..
the inner idealistic pure soul that feels and cares and wonders at the beauty of it all..
the child who believes that it all matters and means something...
I know mine still lives in me,
buried deeply behind the concerns of daily life,
situationally obstructed from the everyday world..
protected i suppose from the darkness that our adult minds endure.
we hide.. shield and protect that purest bit of our inner child,
that crown jewel of our being..
that last bit of purity that is left of us..
knowing just how precious it truly is
but herein lies the tragedy;
we are killing it.. choking it out of existence
banishing it to a memory.
or worse, a forgotten memory
I am occasionally blessed by a moment which awakens that bit of me,
reminds me that it does all matter,
awakens my hardened adult heart from its crusted shell for a moment,
to revel however briefly in thoughts of beauty and the grandeur of life,
and the fantastic complexity of being.
Only in those moments do i feel truly alive..
and those moments so rarely come at all..