To What Pain Am I Led?

My hair tickles gently across my shoulders
the wind is taking me in her embrace.
She wants me to play as she dances so softly
and leaves that ever so cold sting in my cheeks.
I'm so reluctant to go when she picks up her pace
"Follow, me. Follow me." She cries
So subtle the words fall to my ears.
Like a whisper begging I hurry to flee.
Her little ballerina's splash on my face.
Cold and wet they twirl in the street.
I follow as if I know where I'm headed
Down a path, or a road I shouldn't think twice.
In a yard, in the front of a little white house,
Stages a father and small boy with gold hair.
I didn't want to see this burned in my mind.
I didn't want to have my illusions come crashing,
Why wasn't it me rolling in the grass outside?
I have this idea, short and surely fleeting,
Should I talk to him to see what he says?
Would he know I'm thinking the thoughts in my head?
Laughter is drowning out the small whispers.
Daggers are crushing my heart.
In a suddenly infinite world I'm left to ponder.
And now I have no real point.
Should I forgive the most painful of trespassers?

©Krystal Hicks 2000