oh bright, naïve,
jejune Innocence. unbeknownst to itself, made susceptible, trying through
shame, passion, pride, escape; if to see itself, bold in acceptance, tossed to
& fro, made for sweetness; believing, against belief, struggling to remain
innocent, until, it becomes a monster.
true innocence, if
one pontificates, is kind, conscience, free, pained; it feels miseries, it
negotiates consequences, if mature, Innocence is honest.
honesty doesn’t
denote painless. it might be excruciating. it might hurt more than birth pangs.
we might set aside
the inner film, as it determines existence, as it pictures its philosophy.
we might believe,
hold faith, in one against intuition.
most statuesque
Innocence, born to be abused, a field filled with scavengers.
most indetermined
Innocence, made photogenic, why so sad?
