Where is my old childhood lost
A paradise it was in those fields
I long now for a untimed halt,
A way back to those reveries.

The Sun barely lightens up the soul,
It is, within me   . .. winter freeze.
A sabrelight of foregone days strike,
A forlorn descent into insanity.

Optimism comes at a price, of course,
There is but not much to usurp.
Thus I sit in despair and toil _
Away to faraway runaway scenes.
Foreboding, apprehensive are the skies,
My thoughts, my muses .. only company.