This is the land of the lost,
with the rain soaked ground sinking beneath my feet.
This is the land of cracked leather swings,
dogs on ropes,
Daisy Catherine
in her rainboots.
This is a place of the past.
The hill slopes inward,
broken shards of plastic littering its sides
and piercing its surface like teeth.
This is the land of the lost,
and of memories floating in on mist,
shimmering and warm, reminding me of a time before here.
This is a land with no rules.
Daisy Catherine
can swing all the way to the sky
and never have to come back down.
Traditions are cast aside
expectations are lowered
and we get lost.
this is the land of the lost,
of silent canyons
molded by weeks gone by.
no longer caked in ice,
no longer frozen in time.
This is the place I always come back to.
This is the land of the lost.