Every childhood lasts a lifetime.
The cuts, the stings, the bites, the bruises,
the hand held tight, the fears, the laughter.
A search for self knowledge,
forged in the white heat
of other people’s prejudices.
Making choices, reaching out,
trying on other lives for size.
Growing into ourselves.
We look, we watch, we wonder,
searching for a place to call our own,
lost among people who are not like us.
There is only the future, no death, no endings,
limitless dreams to explore or waste.
A soft path beckoning us on.
Grass covered, made for running,
stretching out into a haze
of possibilities we cannot see.
Later, much later, we return, battle hardened,
to find the home that we always knew,
and within it an eager heart still beating,
wings outstretched, beak open,
an empty throat, straining to be fed.
Our wisest, truest self.