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Posted by Simon Parke, 19 May 2017, 6.15am

I don’t want to lose it, I really don’t.

Lose this and all is dry and delight is quite gone.

And it can be lost, lost almost at birth, battered from our skulls by inadequate surrounds, drained from our hearts.

Or pushed slowly from our lives by jostling concerns, plans and ambitions can make one blind.

Or trampled by adult cynicism and left for dead as I banter and josh with some hilarious and clever council of fools.


I don’t want to lose it and without it there is nothing.

I do not speak of stupid innocence which says ‘yes’ to the monster because it gives them a sweet.

But the innocence which sees beyond the monster’s mad contortions, finds droplets of delight in the wet grass of dissonance, hears echoes of paradise in the air.

Innocence is now, fresh as the dew and the poppy.

Innocence is simply wise, knowing more in a moment than my life time of cleverness, knowing beyond it.

Echoes of paradise, this startling start-again truth.

I speak as one in recovery.

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