wrong

"I'm so scared to be wrong",

Said the little boy,

As he flew the kite.

"I'm so scared to be wrong".

"And, what if I'm wrong?"

Said the little girl,

As she hopped over the rocks in the creek.

"What if one of these rolls on me?"

And as the cranes flew over the trees,

And the frogs they leapt,

The clouds glistened against the sun,

Pressed by wind, the flowers collapsed and flocked.

"But, what if we are all wrong?"

They whispered to each other,

Foolish humans, 

Hearing so,

Mistook their murmurs for the sound of the wind.

"But, what if we are all wrong,

To flock against the wind,

To collapse in love?

And what if we fall,

Not, in grace,

But madly so,

In love,

And in hate?

And what if we surrender,

Not before,

But just after,

We do so,

And what if we fall to pieces and break apart,

What if our hearts never mend,

Even if all the king's horses,

And all the king's men,

Could come together to fix us?"

So, in hearing so,

The wind, it screeched,

And the mountains they argued,

The little boy ran inside,

The little girl ran to her mother in the shed.

The poet,

On his sombre walk,

Rushed his steps to get home,

Before the sky starts crying.

And at his door step,

Completely out of breath,

And safe from the rain,

Tears rolled down his cheeks and kissed the mat; way before any droplets of water could.

Under his breath,

Or what's left of it,

He wept to himself and whispered like the wind:

"And what if,

Permanently stuck in regret,

What if I never lusted for no one else,

For I was only an coward,

A foolish one at that,

For in all my lifetime of failures,

I never had the guts,

To lust for myself too,

And the very life,

That I live, so it can be true."

Then he wiped his tears off his feet and entered the house.

Baby Sparky.