the cruel child: let the dog run

now i sit here
between my many books
my toys, my weapons,
my arsenal of words

my knowledge to kill,
to hurt, to make noise
with my instruments,
i could stomp my feet

but i won't.
i've been to a place
where a cruel child
could not forget wounds,

makes towers tumble,
refuses milk and love
to suck his thumb
sulking in the cellar

now i sit here,
i see my titles,
my life, my bills,
my mood and my day

i could stomp my feet,
but i won't.
there is sun outside,
and i see you.

now i sit here,
and i don't care
what is inside,
i will get up.

i could stomp my feet,
but i won't.
i will walk out
of this room and of me.

our life is a riddle
not to be solved,
a maze with wonders
and madness,

falling and flying,
the secret is love,
the way is to live
and to let the dog run.