The Visitor

The little child gets distracted in me, always trying to get
her to do what she doesn’t want to do. I just need to let
her rest and learn to be herself.

A candle in the window burns in the eve,
as I knock faintly then turn to leave. Then
the handle begins to turn, and a voice invites
me in, guiding me through a hallway dark
and grey.

There are pictures on the wall, almost as if
they are of me, from a small child to a girl,
who is now grown and tall. Another door before me

slowly opens. As I peer in, there is a room so grand
with an hourglass of passing sand.

A chair sits in the middle and I take a seat.
There are some little ones passing by as they
rub their sleepy eyes. They are forlorn, with
garments ripped and torn, each bearing a
pail of memories.

Looking at them I realize they are a part of
me. I give them love, wash their faces and clean
their shoes, but these are not enough and will not do.
They begin to cry!

“Please, we are tired and would find peace
and rest, letting go of your anxious thoughts
would be best.” These children I have ignored
have been with me through time, and now as
they ask, it is time to let them rest.

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