Fill me with your misplaced love.

Staying there

I was

Time's captive

abandoned in

Change's shore.

i will sit on a mantle of my own making
sip on wine I made myself
wear a gown of my own inspiration
pluck the crown from the mud at my feet
walk with the knowledge of my deeds
I will no more abandon my thrown
as small and neglected as it is
it will grow with me and i with it

In wild, wild moments there’s the rush of wind
Upon my face, streaming out strands of hair
As I run down hills of mind on lissom legs,
Twigs snapping under my feet while I remain
Childlike and playful, blissful and unaware.
But all this in my mind because
I cannot do this barefoot running anymore.
Can’t run at all.  Those days of mad abandon gone.
But I can still walk slowly on the nice neat paths
Among the bluebells and my heart can still
Skip, dance and jump for joy and sing its song

Although I want you,
I do not need you.
My life will go on,
With or without you.

I will look back on our memories
Without resentment.
Knowing you hurt me
Because you were hurting yourself.

Though our time was short lived,
Like sand in an hourglass.
You made an impression
That will last a lifetime.

Goodbye.

I have been misplaced. I wander through a wilderness of population and insanity. To be lost in the woods is a blessing; a thrilling adventure full of serenity and life. But to find oneself entangled in this city? I cannot stand it. Traffic rages around me: an ever present roar of engines and anger. The harsh, whining lights glare off dusty blacktop and blot out the stars that once calmed my soul. Glazed eyes are made aware of my presence, yet do not recognize the human being behind my body. I am simply a face. An object. Something to be honked at, passed over, jostled out of the way. Stone faces and cinder block hearts are hidden behind streetlight stares shut up in mansions of separation. Fear, depression, anxiety and violence run rampant on the streets as each individual loses all hope of community in the rage of the crowd. We are lost. Fallen to the dark madness that screams for our attention and consumes our minds. Media is hurled at these overstimulated children till they crack under the weight of it all. And I stand here, digging my toes into the only scraggly patch of earth to be found, watching the bricks crumble around me. Each one is a face. A soul. A story. They have succumb to the city and fallen in the ash heap. The child within has been starved to death; and a stone faced stranger is all that remains.
I do not belong here! Can you not see? I am a child of wind and woodlands: an imp who dwells in trees and caverns and mountain tops. I run with the rivers and laugh in the rain. With calloused feet and muddy toes; bruised knees and a thousand tiny scars carrying stories. My hair is tangled in leaves and twigs, and my sun kissed nose lies between ruddy, wind burned cheeks. I have a tribe. My very own clan of fellow adventurers. Shall I forsake our union and abandon my family for this beauty depraved land? Our hearts have been melded together, and are now being ripped apart by brute force. I cannot bear it. I am not strong enough to hold all the desperate fragments together. Please, I beg of you. Let me go home.