It was about a boy,
It was about a girl,
It was about the world.
How they fragile see the earth spin among the stars,
How their innocent eyes keep track of the loosening scars,
How they play and caress one another.
The story had a beginning,
The story had an end,
The story was played out their way,
Each and every day.
It was hard,
It became easier,
Fighting inviable demons,
Monkeys riding their backs,
Seeping its unevolved way into their cracks.
They spin between sun and moon,
Ride their swings till noon,
Till the day meets the dawn,
And the dawn embraces the night.
They know what they like,
But that didn’t make it right,
Knowing they could live without a fight,
In spite of losing any and all might,
Might it be said they were pretty much dead…already.
But they grow fast,
Making their pass,
Through the dastardly rasp,
Of winters past.
It’s a cumbersome load,
Living in the humble abode,
Rode by a boy and girl,
Told what to do,
Fantasy adventurism,
Clockwork mannerism,
Dilapidated centrism.
The load gets lighter,
The boy and girl shine brighter,
The world feels a little tighter,
They are connected.


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