The Eyes of A Child

This is a small portion from a story I am writing. It's from the view point of a young girl. It's a little break from all the serious stuff....I hope y'all enjoy!





I can recall as a young girl the fascination with which I looked upon the world. Such a simple thing as a rainbow seen through a window on a train ride, or even comparing my little hand to the hand of my mother filled my mind with curiosity. I used to wonder how things came to be so big. My mom would tell me that she was my size once, and I would smile and silently think who she thought she was fooling. The thing that I never seemed to figure out though was what the big ones were always worried about. I was constantly being harassed by one of them to hurry up, but what for? Why must I dress quicker and walk faster only to sit down and continually be told to be still for an hour or so? These big ones really had no sense of time. They would grab you by the hand if they felt the need, and yet that did not satisfy some. Some of them must pick you up, press your check to their lips, and (as if that wasn’t enough) bounce you all around the place. How bizarre!

Why They Call it Falling

This time I’ll be ready,

When the tears flow down,

The hurt will be lessened,

I won’t make a sound.

This time I’ll stay steady,

My feet will not slip,

My head held high,

No quiver upon my lip.

This time I’ll let go,

No holding dead dreams,

I’ll find yet another,

Going down life’s stream.

This time I’ll stay low,

Someplace out of sight,

No one will find me,

Not in day or at night.

This promise I make,

Each time my heart bleeds,

In hopes of strength,

Yet my mind never heeds.

This promise I take,

Like an oath so solemn,

But the next time I try,

I find my heart has still fallen.

~Meg James