The Lost Child

Part I

It was a long time,
Since that child walked on earth wearing a bouncy ponytail
And a white cotton embroidery lace dress.

(Not a care in the world)
Words mixed up in her mouth like chewed tutti-frutti bubble gum;
Half sentences breaking softly between folksy lullabies.

And life has taught me (since them)
That life is a train running fast… carrying dreams (and chains),
Which fly out of its open chattered windows.

Her small feet walked always beside mine,
Over shards of luminous burning coals,
Flowers growing from the cracked pavement.

Behind her inked shadow,
The phosphorescent full moon danced
Dizzy amongst the radiance of newly born stars…
Telling stories (once lost in time)
Warm whispers carried in the gentle summer breeze,
Names of forgotten ancestors, spelled around the sparkling fire.

Ahead of her, stood the entire world,
An open page to be filled with blood and laughter; lies and poetry; facts and fiction
Mixed with the sounds of her unborn baby.

The Lost Child

The child had fluttering wings in her feet,
They itched like wild jumping circus fleas,
Pulling her deep roots and tearing the red oxidised soil apart;
Like unexpected earthquakes in solid ground
Which crack and fracture tectonic plates…
She had to go.

Part II

She is projected into space, ( a new world)
Chasing songlines in desolated landscapes,
Guided by the promises of dusty falling stars.

And there in the future
She forgot her name, her birth place,
How her small feet walked beside mine,
We slept in a tent under a glowing rainbow.

She tattooed a smile over her burned lips,
She wrote fancy words about a past she re-invented
She replaced her history with new wave cinema…

The Lost Child

Part III

She dances by the burning fire
around the shards of a broken mirror
In the centre of the circle lies a severed ponytail

It’s the only reminder that indeed
Once she lived a life ( she denies )
That she doesn’t want to remember.

In her dreams, between her cracked lips
She whispers her forgotten name,
She grinds her teeth and she clenches her jaw,
Chewing up poetry and fiction like spearmint bubble gum.

No one can say for sure, if she had a happy childhood,
If she had any friends or family,
Perhaps she was born from a fossilised egg,
Her mother was never mentioned or seen.

Reflected in the moonlight,
She is the flower of narcissus
Floating in the motionless lake
Slowly falling into the deep murky water,
She eventually will vanish into the unknown.

The lost child fades like a half remembered dream after the early spring sunrise.