Such a nice breeze blows across this place,
Holding my senses, like a lover's embrace.
A twilit haven held away from time,
In stasis, stolen from a memory of mine.
Walking through the grass I reminisce,
About better times, once had in a place like this.
I was a child last time I was here, about 8.
I was thinking about dinner, couldn't be late.
Running through the field barefoot, I know,
Could have hurt myself, but I had to go, go, go.
The day came when I left it all behind,
Time moving forward, my thoughts in rewind.
Where has the time gone for me, dear friend?
And why oh why, do I find this place at the end.

No I am not leaving, no I am not killing myself, I got better things to do. But sometimes I think of situations in a weird way. Imagine what an old man thinks about on his deathbed. So this is prolly what I would think of, the field from my childhood where I spent so many hours with my imagination as my only company.

Skech and art © 6/09
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