Little One

Soften the foot steps leading

Into the creaking, open doorway

For the promises it beholds

Are nothing more than deceiving

Little One, this is not how tomorrow

Should begin

Uncurl each trembling finger

That takes comfort in the

Wrinkles engraved in pink palms,

Stretch them forth and for a time, linger

In the rays pouring in between each

Wooden doorframe

Stay only a moment, no more,

Watch as the pigment deepens

Slowly, surely it is devoured

Ripping open, falling to the shore;

Barricade each plump crimson lip,

Bone exposed

A tremor rattles out, uncontrollable

Pull back with hast, no more

Than a moment, warning, remember!

But, oh, it is too late, the power unstoppable

Seeps through to the fibers in the mind,

Now useless

Little One, use the power resounding

In the innocence beneath each

Tip of a finger nail

This is not how tomorrow should be beginning