Is to bottle the fireflies you chased all night,
to watch the lightning and wait for the thunder,
to slip on green moss and fall away the daylight,
to hold onto lichens and ivies creeping the corner.

to let the sunlight make your freckles tickle,
to feel the grass your naked feet walk across,
to let the snow make your nose crinkle,
to love? is to feel the time pause.

I long to weave my thinking into phrases,
before the account of nostalgic moments ceases.
I wish to pen every moment, each picture that I've beheld
and I want to word all of the yearnings withheld.

what is this madness, this endless chase?
to record on a thin sheet all that took place.
Happenings and incidents I try to compile,
is this meaningful or just futile?

For sometimes it feels they'll crawl out of me
and without a glance back, run free.
and I'd not have the strength to stand,
on my wobbling legs and stretch my hand.

I don't know if this feeling's a little gray
I know somethings that have to stay
will not require me to hold tight
yet losing them builds a fright