Through a window

Through a window

Through a window looking out to the Sea

Dreaming of worlds beyond the Horizon...

How much of my seven year old child soul 
is still here with me

Much more than surprised to discover...

Lonely days, desperate and hollow of hope

lost in a past that until now

was a safe concrete present.

Walking alone at the beach, absent, tormented

yet yielding to the whisper of the waves

collecting Seashells with childish delight

for every new shape and find.

In the internal mirror the images interchangeable

appear young ... mature... adolescent ... old...

or just as playful child

Playful?... i dont remember... not unless alone.

Born old or mature, yet always young

Young when alone.

Always looking from the window

far to the end of the sea

dreaming of worlds beyond the horizon

I will always remain young even when i am old

and as old as i was, when i was very-very young

Knowing there are Worlds Beyond the Horizon...

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