Winmalee, New South Wales
Hidden inside where eyes rarely see,
Singular images of a world set free.
Broken glass, glinting and sharpened,
Piercing into infinite souls;
A looking glass magnified,
Bare innocence exposed,
Grown obscure by sinful throes,
Fragile and delicate in nature;
Hidden deep in subconscious thought,
An emerging catharsis of knowing,
Blooming sweetly as roses;
Innocence blooms seldom in the mature mind;
A bittersweet flower, smelling sweetly,
But riddled with sharpened thorns;
Thorns of corrupted thoughts and losses.
The rose blooms in rare moments,
Vulnerable and child-like;
The subtle beauty missed by the ignorant,
Shortly snuffed and hidden from view;
Once more buried and lost in persona.
Distant memories are once again forgotten,
Of happiness and the simple wonder of a child.