The Child Of Tomorrow

The Child Of Tomorrow

A child holds a seed in her palm.

Small as a whisper.

She gazes at it with patience

older than her years.

As if the world leans on her hand.

She digs into the soil,

fingers trembling but sure.

She places the seed

as if laying a star into the earth.

Trusting it to rise.

Around her the city groans.

Horns and broken wires.

But she does not turn her head.

She listens to the silence

between heartbeats and roots.

In her eyes grows a field.

No sorrow can walk there.

Green blades grow

meeting her shoulders.

Crown her with mornings.

And when she sleeps.

Dreams slip out of her mouth.

Becoming clouds.

Carrying rain gentle as hope.

Falling where the seed waits.

Tomorrow will bloom.

Not from the hands of kings.

But from a child with dirt on her nails.

And faith that light remembers its way back.