sometimes innocence looks like a fight

that breaks out inside a classroom,

as each kid awkwardly throws their barely developed limbs

around as an expression of friendship, or confusion, or possibly anger,

but then again, what does a nine year old have to be angry about?

before the perfect punch lands

and i end up bleeding from my nose,

a spigot turns on, and i can’t seem to stop the infinite hemorrhaging

violent ocean waves,

ebb and flow,

down by the dock,

a salty symphony of sound,

tides rise up and then recede,

following a cadence that can soothe, then pierces,

while the broken heart crashes in the middle of a tidal wave

and gets lost at sea

wind whispers through the trees,

crying a lullaby to put the mind at ease,

as leaves ruffle to a divine rhythm,

symphony in a jagged line,

lacking melody, the air grows stale and cold,

a soulful song that clamps up the moment it is sung

Fred Aiken Writing