By Tony DeLorger © 2011
Small plump hands clench tightly strings,
beneath a cluster of coloured balls,
floating purposefully, resisting restraint.
Crystal eyes wide with wonder,
admire their squeaky full presence,
smiles alight, the pleasure of being.
Unable to look away the child follows,
as if they uncaptured him,
dragging him to worlds of colour and frivolity.
Around him the fair thrives,
a blur of activity and colour, just like his balloons.
How perfect they are,
like bubbles more permanent, strong and pure,
like a perfect day in the sun,
each one a gift of remembrance.
Unaware of the mundane world,
he follows them to the green pastures,
like a sea of vibrant green,
wind swept in waves of nature’s finest.
The boy looks over the rolling grasses,
and his mind explodes,
the colours of his balloons begging release.
In the open field, his hand relents,
and coloured worlds surrender to the wind,
seeking endless skies over the green sea.
He feels the strings slide through his chubby little fingers,
and one by one the balls escape,
tossed to the four corners of the world,
whipped up by nature’s whisper.
He lies on the grass,
and peers up into the heavens,
the colours lost in the eternal blue.
Pleasure captures his heart,
his soul freed just like those balloons.
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