Coming Of Age: Notes of an Online Journal

”Coming Of Age”


Back then I was
diminutive and dainty,
was I not;
when you first
laid hands,
softer than
a living man’s,
upon this gypsy
olive skin.

Unsullied
of any other,
and had no words
no sight, heard
not a sound,
appearing
in dreams,
and then awoke.

Each bird songs’ note
of morning trill,
was parch’d
when sunrise
bore passage
of myself
into unholiness
with the Lord.

Not from on high,
that sees
and knows all,
what some believe
was true,
but from within
that will not
show itself;

To you, nor
to the host, who
serves unwittingly
years of
innocence,
as time
draws near
for a soul’s
coming of age.




NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019