• There was once a
    Child.
    A child with big hopes.
    A child with a big net.
    He wandered:
    Off into the world,
    To see,
    To experience,
    To taste.

    With awe and determination did she
    Look up into the night,
    Looking up into the night
    Sky,
    Clinquant, speckled suspended
    Diamonds
    he witnessed.
    Grabbing without care.
    Perplexed, looking down
    At her empty hands.

    He frolicked in the day,
    Barefoot,
    Barefoot,
    Dancing in the sun’s rays--
    Drowning in light.
    She paused.
    Looked.
    Blinded, but for moment:
    His net did she grasp
    And with zeal he whole-heartedly
    Flung the net into the air,
    As high as she could,
    reach
    reach
    reach.
    Saddened:
    Not by the emptiness of his net,
    That filled the tragic aspiration,
    But with the stupidity
    of her actions.

    He ventured.
    Still looking
    For something
    She did
    Not
    Know.
    Something he
    Never knew
    She was looking for.
    On a pilgrimage
    Of
    Baffled hope.

    And so he stood,
    Conceding her lost efforts.
    He stood,
    Standing where
    No one
    Knew.
    Where she never knew.
    Then,
    Unnoticed, but noticed
    A moth;
    Black, brown and
    Frayed,
    Rested in his
    Net.
    Astonished.
    Had her wanderlust come to an end?
    He peered into the moth,
    Searching for an answer.
    A question.
    She stood.
    The moth flew away,
    On its own odyssey,
    To write its own epic;
    As the little child
    Stood there
    Wondering,
    What he had lost.