Promise of Tomorrow

"He who speaks a foreign language imperfectly has more enjoyment therein than he who speaks it well. The enjoyment is with the partially initiated" - Freidrich Nietzsche    
     
Soft words whisper in the wind    
   
Young hearts full of Hope  
 and yet unfeigned by life's resplendent horrors    
   
They walk together  
holding hands,    
grasping towards the promise of tomorrow.    
     
The smell of rich warm earth  
and all the mysteries of flora and fauna      
unfurled into the wind    
   
While all around them      
the trees well up      
with the laughter of long forgotten tongues.    
     
Words unspoken  
Memories, like quicksilver    
 slipping away into the drain of night    

They are the partially initiated    
The young and the naive.    
     
How one longs to return to that wooly womb of blissful ignorance!    
     
Shadows of branches    
fingers of the sun      
reaching down through the trees    
to light upon their wistful minds    
     
And even though I fear the worst for them    
     
I quiet my troubled soul and hope    
that someday soon    
 I too    
 will once again    
 learn to forget    
and grasp towards    
the promise of tomorrow.