CHILD IN THE WINDOW

Black raven wings

silhouetted across the window

and the brick

and mortar could not dowse

the Spirit

of a child entering the door of the house.

A celebrity you became

as the news

spread far and wide, directing you

on a Ferris ride across the tide.

Shy to say

the ambiance

of your face remained sad

filling your head with joy

was a

doubtful million miles away, as stars

always guided your way.

Black Raven eyes

with an eye on the mystical

enlightened by the vibrations

and gilded

creations that gold leaf the day.

Kissing

the space of the abyss

in which you

lived to talk about your tears

you masquerade

your inner web of meanderings

and hide

like an impoverished child.

The power of your heart

is a beauty aligned

by the eyes of how you see

though

running feet and shouting cries

is the wallpaper

of your families life together.

Has the Poet

become the child in the window

whose

questionable fate allures

and transmutes

the essence of who you are

by placing

the bits in your hands.

Does the

Glorious Light of God speak?

Does the

opposition throw up its hands in failure?

That child in the window- was me …