THE CHILDREN WILL REMEMBER

Alone with the howl,
like a secret siren
that will not be heard:
that lost pearl,
this misted moon,
that blood smear
on an innocent white belly,
that torn top button.

Who stole happiness?
Can you dance it back
with drums?
Drink it back in potions?
Slam it back with your
head against a dirty wall?

Twenty tin soldiers
on a hardwood floor;
a ballerina with a broken toe;
a rubber yellow duck
melted amidst broken glass
cry out to be remembered
as something more than real.

Who said we must dream
these fostered dreams?
And who says they are actual?
Time is working now
against time,
and the whole thing has shattered,
though we are still playing
house and grownup
with the pieces.

A million lost children
are frantically trying to fix their tricked minds,
having been diagnosed and tranquilized
because they dreamed of magic beauty
and dared to paint their skin
yellow, or blue
with crying, silk rainbows.

Soon, the awakening will happen,
for it’s been written in the sky
by a thousand blind prophets,
martyrs, pure-hearted heretics,
and women who tore off their clothes
to dance wild dreams alive
in pink flesh and paint.

And the children will come home
through the howl they will embrace
to open the lost door
into the wild, innocent beauty
they knew in their
dreaming golden bones
was true.

THE CHILDREN WILL REMEMBER

Blake Steele

Molkom, Sweden

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 24

Artist's Description

*This beautiful drawing The Witness is by Cynthia Lund Torroll
Please take a look at her stunning work.

This poem was inspired by the sensitive, pure poetry of Spindrift Ochre It is a cry for the young people to gain confidence in what they know in their deep hearts is the magical, beauty and deeper purpose of Life here on Earth; to not give in to the rape of their most sensitive hearts in the name of “growing up” which means becoming a productive cog and consumer in a materialistically blinded world system. The ages have already changed. Sensitive souls know a greater beauty and meaning is being born. They struggle to believe they are not deluded, that Life can be so pure and magically beautiful through a Love that is greater than we define it. This is a poem for them.*

Artwork Comments

  • Robin Monroe
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