What are we, but little children’s eyes?
Always looking forward,
No matter how much we think we are affected by our pasts
Hoping . . .
Dreaming . . .
Receiving future events with much surrender
Or perceiving them, rather
We do not know for sure.
What are we, but little hearts?
Waiting for tomorrow,
Wondering what it will bring us
Sunshine or rain?
or perhaps once again, pain?
What are we, but hungry souls?
Deceived by the blackness that surrounds us
Yet, still looking for that bright white light
Even if it is somewhere around the far-fetched horizon
Which we sometimes cannot see, but insist to imagine
Fighting . . .
Enduring . . .
Trying, and trying to make it through
To raise our heads up high
To allow that light to shine in
To let our smiles, no matter how small, win
What are we, but specks of dust?
In this tornado we call a life
Twisting and turning . . .
Howling . . .
Rising and falling,
And rising and falling again. . .
Only to survive
And to enjoy the little things throughout the years
For it is those little things that make us who we are…
A few smiles here and there
Good old friends
Heart to heart conversations
And some craziness to top it all
Have a crazy, yet blessed 2016 . . .