The Cycle

The street simmers slowly at noon.

Scattered crowds, summer smiles. An

Explosion

Destroys the calm, drawing all eyes.

A child, caught in the center, cries.

She’s whole, unharmed.

Except

A small part of her heart

That now knows

The sorrow of permanence.

Plastic flesh scatters the ground,

But she’ll forget that sight.

For now she weeps,

But she’ll forget the day

She lost her friend to a passing branch.

Mother scoops the mourner into her arms.

 Nurse, nanny, and napkin.

She coos promises.

“Hush, love,” she says.

But no angel’s song can sooth this pain.

The rest disperse back into cringing crowds,

Mindless of her misery

 Save a young saint

Who offers his own balloon.

“Don’t cry,” he asks only in return.

And she doesn’t.

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I'm running on many social networks right now, but I've decided to start posting here again. I want to start putting my work out there, whether they be stories, poems, or just some musings on the world. Twitter can only hold so much. Everything over 140 characters can go here, I suppose. Maybe this'll be a new motivation.

Good luck, me. x3