No filters from the mind of a child
Truth can stab like a sharp sword
The ground can be swept 
from beneath your feet
Leaving a puzzle for you to think on
The film you watch, all too familiar
The artwork on your wall, stolen
Breeze from the open window
standing the hair on the back of your neck
Judging your own misdemeanours
Mindful now, as if your life feels 
as if you walk on a thin wire
Still, you tell yourself, 
one last job couldn’t hurt…

©AnitaDawes2022