The square buzzes—
polished shoes clack, briefcases click.
A nod here, a smirk there.
Underneath, a rasp—
small hands searching cobblestones,
eyes scanning for faces that never turned back.
The carousel’s tune plays faint,
a lullaby for someone else.
They brush it off.
A tailored coat settles on shaking shoulders.
The child sits quietly,
hidden inside the polished sheen.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 23rd, 2025 04:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments6
Good write, arqios. A cautionary illustration: when everybody goes in the same direction, it can't end well.
Thanks Jerry, there’s a real depth in that. Much appreciated 🕊
At first puzzled, I reach inside, a child in ignorance searches sounds, signs hard rocks, amidst the noise the inner child sits protected. Not much of an interpretation but it is all I've got mate
Thanks Soren🕊🙏🏻 It as much as a child as it is the child inside the grown person that sometimes resurfaces.
Most welcome Cryptic
Beautifully written, quietly powerful with strong, clear imagery.
Thanks Salvia🕊🙏🏻
It’s a bit on the vague surrealistic side but glad you’ve taken it on🕊🙏🏻
Hmm
While there seems to be a ghost of beauty haunting, the more ghastly and macabre reality playing out routinely overrides this coldly. Beautifully rendered in delicate and deliciously eloquent simplicity with a cruel poignancy haunting. Thank you very much for sharing.
I. love how the cruelty is uncovered delicately.
I've been there .. literally & as a kid too .. very impressed with todays gift arquis .. cryptic is as cryptic woz as me Mam used to say .. & me DAD but less often 🙂
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