The Narrator

I tell stories

of little girls I heard,

singing along,

to a big girls song.

 

of men being men,

women being women,

and kids who just want to grow up.

 

of wars waged and won,

or better yet, of wars unwaged,

pain avoided.

 

Of anxious parents,

pacing in the dark,

and kids who just want to grow up.

 

of creatures of habit,

spontaneously combusting,

in flashes of anger.

 

I tell stories,

for how good is a spark,

if there is no darkness to show its shine?

11 thoughts on The Narrator

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