Castles

Every “you” that ever was is still there, inside you.

The helpless infant, with nothing but a voice; the exploring toddler, ready to put hands on almost anything; the adventurous or timid child, the disillusioned teen. We are all made up of everyone we’ve been.

We should never judge our younger selves. I use the word “judge” here to mean, condemn. Because, while we may come to feel how we behaved was wrong, that person came to know better.

To be you, or me. And we may come to know better, yet.

A person is kind of like a castle: over time, we may forget how and why it came to be as it is. We may choose, instead, to focus on its sad history: how those in it were abused, or used their power to abuse others.

Or, we can gather around it at sunset, and see it as part of who we are, as human beings: both the ugly, and the glorious.

We for we humans are always a mixture of both.


At two years old, and chattering,
She moves the tiny king and queen
Out from the castle on the floor
The long way to the living room,
  the pathway paved,
  the voyage braved,
  a new home made, and found.

And I am her, and she is me.
Both choices new, and left behind:
The days that make a difference
In seeking some new homeland fair,
  we may lose track
  and not look back
  at castles we left standing

  on the ground.

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “Castles”

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