Poems,  Works


We all carry a hope for respite
Such wishful plights
Let us remember the night

We yearn
Anon the sight
We look to said yonder
Away whence we came
To houses sterile and new
And untouch glades, lush, unwalked
Only to watch

Forgone childish play, childish toys

Yes, the magic dies
With a sigh
Our skin crinkles
Our eyes narrow
Our souls hunched in crumbled bodies

Yes, the magic dies
Till child we see once more
And in the sparkle of their eyes
We either cringe
Or know whence we came
And laugh the glee of respite and see anon no more
Or live to die anon once more

Please let me know your thoughts.

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