childhood

childhood is

a field of blossoming flowers

an old two-story house covered in splintered wood, and

the way sunlight filters through a broken window on a

cloudy afternoon

childhood is

pastel dresses and hair tied up in ribbons

walking home with shaking legs and the weight of

a secret to keep

childhood is

the way dust gets stuck in your throat

a pale pink rabbit with one black button eye that sees too much, and

the innocence of oblivion

Reviews

[lizardbrain]

i like the honesty of this poem, and the mixture of the good and the bad that are so hard to sort out from memories

[Gee]

That is a beautifully descriptive write conjuring vivid images .

[Abhishek Izy]

This is beautiful, an insight into a World where you grew up, maybe. Nice write!!