A Corner In The World

At the age of two he knew,
life was not perfect.
As we walked into our new house,
the smell of fresh paint,
held us in a cloud.
I watched him moving
his fort and soldiers,
his face beamed.
This was our corner of the world,
the nightmares would not seep through,
these walls.
I would not let them enter.
For years I held secrets,
in a bottomless purse that I carried.
As he grew,
he scattered them,
as if they were seeds,
allowing them to be free.
As the bubbles came up from the deep,
we rose above,
and began to breathe.