Through the eyes of a child
Sunday, 30 October 2005 | 1:10
Formulaic and naive. Simple-minded with awkward structures. What can I say? I was twelve years old.
Fragile as glass on a sharp stone
Soft as a feather upon a plush throne
Sweet as the dew in the early morn
Painful as the prick of a rose’s thorn
…
Why are the clouds white in the sky?
Why do the mountains reach so high?
Why does the ocean stretch so wide?
Why are the forests so brown and dried?
Why does the river run so long?
Why do I feel as if I don’t belong?
How in this world so mature and demanding
can I be so naïve, small, and understanding?
…
Something as delicate as a bird
Someone whose whisper goes unheard
A strangled cry from the dark
A child’s face unfeeling, unmarked
No trace left of emotion
No love left, no devotion
Only soft tears that fall silently to the floor
Closed in, kept in behind a locked door
I saw the call for submissions on the noticeboard in my junior high. A small literary journal was publishing a special edition featuring teenage poetry. I lied and said I was thirteen, and submitted seven poems; these three, plus two more, were published. I was pleased as punch, but too timid to let anyone know. To this day, only my immediate family knows about it. Well, until now, I suppose!
I am back and enchanted as expected. Please do continue with poetry, you have a real talent and feel for it. I wish I’d written like this at the same age! Love Ely.
Thank you for your kind words
The above poems are very simplistic and a little embarassing, but since I was only 12 I suppose I had an excuse!