Poem By TP Sage
They bring warmth
to the coldest of hearts,
dreams to the walking, waking dead,
song to the lips of the freely mute.
They are text book attention deficit,
and not a single pill in sight.
No concept of the harshness of reality,
and no understanding that
their limitations will be
their own creation.
They are bald honest emotion,
frayed, exposed nerves
just like your very last one
that they got on.
Can you hear children singing?
Lifting me up.
Flying through the air like a car crash,
but settling into our sensibilities like harp music.
Laughter that sticks to your skin
like warm summer rain,
hugs that are truth...
honesty, sincerity in their most pure expression.
It terrifies me to look upon them,
for what would I ever do
if they were not there.
Living, breathing, laughing mirrors.
Showing you an incomplete reflection
of what you have been showing them.
Talking to you in your voice.
Reacting to their world from your skin.
They are becoming who you are....
How to get them to become
who you wanted to be?
I hear angels singing.