Where is the child? Each morning
upon waking, I look for him,
the day stretching, wiping its eyes.

Unable to find him, I lie
thinking, recalling happier times.
Floating, I return to my yard.

Around me, memories smile,
the day grinning, because again,
we have rituals to share. Come,
here, girl. Blackie laughs.

Blackie is my friend;
she is a beautiful black Lab;
her eyes richly dark; her coat,
soft smooth ebony sunshine.

We walk into the day, she
and I. Sometimes, I think that
Blackie knows my thoughts,
staying closely to me, always.

Sometimes, whenever I cry,
Blackie begins to tear, whining
softly, endearingly. Then her
spirit departs. I miss her.

How am I to suffer aging,
friendless alone aloof from
everyone everything. Most
times, we create our suffrages.

Staring from my past, I understand
why childhood embraced me; a
sensitive boy, life held sorrows
for me, joy ever an evasive quest.

Searching grips me, I explore,
traversing life’s sticky webs,
a fly for the ferocity of fear,
a delicacy to daunting truth.

Where is the child?
He has become lost in the
wheels of time, a dimming light
trapped in brilliant darkness.
Copyright © 2013 Delbert H. Rhodes

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