C
literature

Children

harlita's avatar
By harlita   |   Watch
0 1 114 (1 Today)
Published: July 27, 2006
Watchful eyes of the overcast skies
Keep a feeling a security in my soul
Slightest hint of a breeze
Causing the leaves to roll
The descendants of the residents
The pine tree scrolls a tune
And all of the family arrives to the house
Well before the hour of noon

Simple luxuries of space and time
Seem to emanate from the grove
And stories of wild and tales of mild
Boil in pots on the old wood stove

Never the staircase without a smile
Winds down onto a landing
Which leads the smiling into a room
Where the family drinks brandy
The spoken words of travels afar
Amount to little when compared
With the darting eyes and careless smiles
And the familiarity of the air
Burgundy walls fall from ceiling to floor
With pictures carefully placed
To visually unfold the history
Of the family's grace

The material laid at the feet
And chairs strewn all about
Give comfort to those who meet
In a sort of circled shroud

The embers of the fire which burns
Produces a welcomed heat
And some children gather close to the source
To enjoy the soothing treat

It is the children who find their way
Through the mazes of the house
It is the children who are hushed
When their laughter teams too loud
It is the elders who will guess the way
The children might find to go
For they were young themselves one day
Only this the elders know
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© 2006 - 2019 harlita
The first thing I ever really wrote.

Sat down at the computer at a library once and found that the keyboard actually succeeded in speed where pen and paper failed me before.

Unintentionally, "Children" came out.

I don't edit my writings really.. they just start--end--and there it is.

Um..this is also the first time I'm submitting something.. so.. please bare with me.
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it implodes on the walls of your skull and slides, sickly off your tongue like the body of a slug. when it hits the floor it is not quiet, not heavy nor dull but sharp as a slap and totters out of the room suddenly, they are disgusting and you are ill. there is no more room for regret, washed away by the slime coming out of your pores. the fault is yours
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     When you are young, they will treat you with the softness of spring. They will guide you through the winter winds and over snowy hills, admiring the brilliance of your midday innocence; pulling daisies from the earth just to place them in your hair. And they will whisper to each other of how beautiful you are.     When you grow older, they will treat you with the indifferences of autumn. They will urge you from the complacency of your own fleeting fulfillments, and they will watch your brilliance fade with the swiftness of the sky. You will shed your fragile childhood with the colors of the trees, and you will learn to face
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Comments (1)
moejo's avatar
moejo|Hobbyist Photographer
HARLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITAAAAA :heart: youre name is heart, i just noticed that XD

on topic; this is wonderful. I really enjoy the imagery your work portrays. Like I already told you, it makes me want to paint a pitcure of the seen, which doesnt happen to often. Your words convey so many emotions and your writing is so beautfil. I really enjoyed reading this

The embers of the fire which burns
Produces a welcomed heat
And some children gather close to the source
To enjoy the soothing treat


I wish I was born in a cabain now.
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