The inner child:

The inner child:
Against the wind,
weakness struggles.
Underneath the skin,
sharp glass shattering
the flesh in flames.
Self - centered,
embracing the world,
the barefoot child is dancing,
streams of tears rolling down her infant face.
Her eyes are now widely enlarged.
With the innocence of her vigilant soul,
staring at the woman I am.
Today.
At the grief of loving.
The incidious, smooth voice that brings you to love.
To anger.
To hurt.
To redemption.
To forgiveness.
The chilling breeze that comes from within and leaves you numb,
Unknown, the infancy.
Love that tears you apart when you grow captive.
Like butterflies in an alegoric tale of lust and deceive.
Together, embodied, as one.
Their voices echoing endlessly among the tears.
Their eyes gazing in my surreal face.
My inner child.

Morgana Ray, London 2008