The Old Young

By Jennifer Ferraro

I was one who was
old while young…
Now, a definite thing,
I want to be innocent again,
unbroken
by what was lost.

What went with a bang or whimper
was the heart-skin,
the easily pierced country, the true
home.
Homeless children make
a home in themselves…
or thrash for years unto distraction,
creating chaos in and out of doors,
until the forgotten country stands
solitary and large as the sky
pitted against one’s life
and the word must be felt entire:
LOST

I was one who was
old while young…
Now, a definite thing,
I want to be innocent again,
unbroken
by what was lost.