We are so strong to ourselves.

We live in castles and wear our armor,

and go on quests to prove our worth.

We slay the dragons and battle sea-serpents,

regarding death as we do the ant,

casually superior and paying no mind,

never facing it.

We treat mysteries of the universe

with educated familiarity, keepers of secrets

we were never told.

We boast of progress and achievement,

count trophies and polish medals,

soak in champagne and write memoirs

and condescend to allow our worship.

But when the temple gods are smashed and replaced,

When the tapestries rot and the coins tarnish,

When shapeless fear reveals what we do not know,

and death forces a point-blank gaze at it,

when the monsters resurrect

and our castles crumble down,

we wake from our dreams,

and realize that we are only children.


Published by Hannah Kennedy

Hannah is an old lady at heart, with a deep love of yarn and floral patterns. She has curly hair, she is a lefty, she googles everything, and her favorite color is blue. She can usually be found reading everything from nineteenth-century fiction to modern psychology, doing yoga, dragging out chores to fit the podcast she's listening to, or watching The Office with her husband.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: