Peter Pan

sits on a hilltop,

thinking he can fly

conveniently forgetting

the last time that he tried

abrasions, and bruises

no difference to him

he’s told things over and over

but he knows better than them

idea’s come, idea’s go

dreams wane and fade

his eyes dart like fireflies

as his legs prepare to spring

Peter Pan

plays with mermaids

leaping from rock to rock

these flagrant beauties

more dangerous than hook set against his clock

they flip their fins

they draw him in

he’s been warned before

but he knows better than them

ideas come, ideas go

dreams wane and fade

he doesn’t notice the moment 

when the angels prepare to spring