Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Playground In Her Head

It is a ticket, one way
To some one I used to know and
It is where the sun and the moon meet
And hold hands and laugh
And sometimes cry
Oh why? Did I see what's here come near
Or am I some kind of yoyo
Blue, or grey discolored sunrise
And old boxes of sand castles in a sand- less beach and an empty goal
With nothing more to say, it's the wind I reach for
It's the wind I dreamt of many years ago and the wind I get and maybe it is my way of living, lined up with a dread of
Am I gone? Or are you here and I am somewhere else? Or are you just, you
Sketched out in some else's canvas
Where the colors once again, meet
Like two children holding hands and how he forgets that playground in her head and it's burn, burning like fire
This story is to be told
When is no longer there. Oh.
Because the wind can't be seen unless
You really start live
Can you feel? The wind that is.
Among the trees
Someone I know is waiting under its leaves
And it's patient eyes can only make you feel
Like it's okay to walk by
And live.