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Beautiful Words

Once,
in days of yore,
upon the unassuming pages
of a children's autobiographical anthology,
it was written:

"If I could change the world in any way,
I would make it a safer,
more secure place to live.
I would wish
that everyone
would examine themselves
more truthfully
and forgivingly;
that people
would be more accepting of others;
that a healthy nurturing of self
and of family
be a priority above all else."

Beautiful words;
beautiful words from the depths
of a Beautiful Lady.

Were they the stuff of legend,
or were they of a lesser substance;
were they but myth?
If legend,
then I Love the legend.
If myth,
I Love the myth.
If merely prophetic,
I wait.
If simply a wish,
born of whimsical dreaming,
devoid of intended effort;
well then,
they were Beautiful words;
Beautiful,
but empty words,
skillfully matted;
made sterile by a thin veneer of granite hard glass;
emasculated by a hardwood frame;
a nice decoration for a nice blasé wall,
and very little has been lost.

But,
if they were the final expressions
of a terrorized child,
caged by childhood fears,
made silent by ridicule and threat,
and having but that one brief moment
to bare her soul,
to allow the sun's rays to warm her heart,
to breathe life into her dormant spirit;
if this is the Beautiful Lady's reality,
then,
they are indeed,
Beautiful Words,
and so,
so much,
has been lost.

rko
december two, two thousand, seven
eleven: forty-two p.m.

This poem is Copyright ÂŠ enigma