Trying to fit the entire universe into one sentence,
the little boy excused himself from his meal and announced,
“It’s good to be home.”
The world,
Or at least the measures of its simpler pleasures
Danced across his brow
And flickered from his smile,
But could not
For one fleeting moment
Portray
The fates that may befall him some day.
So fear seizes,
And a need arises
To think of invincibility and all the world’s surprises,
As he chews, mouth agape
And works real hard to clean his plate
Before he stands importantly-tall against the wooden doorframe
For his weekly measuring,
Not daunted in the least
To face the world and all its trappings.
His little universe,
Wrapped in a blanket of youth
Is safe (however-temporarily) from the closet monsters
Of age and truth.
And is that worth preserving?