Where are all the carnival rides
The Ferris wheel with bright lights
The fairy floss and cherry cokes
and the warm sultry nights
The call of the racketeer
encouraging all to take a chance
Where's the monkey you carried
just so we could hold hands

Where are all the park benches
that used to ring the pond
Where are the acres of green grass
where we sat as you sang me our song

and where have all the ducks gone?

Where has gone the soda shop,
the big band dance halls
and the local Ihop?

There stands the apartment block
where our little house once stood
Where have all the children gone
that we once watched from the stoop

Where are the endless games
of hide and seek and peek a boo
Where's the night gone, the fires out
Where is the heartbeat of our intimacy we shared in our bedroom?

Its all there in the asbestos ceiling
and in the plaster that is cracked
it crinkles beneath fingers
of cold cotton bed sheets
sterile of comfort and it lacks
the vibrancy of emotions
from another lifetime
Laying still, awaiting the ground
It drifts like fog in an ageing mind

She has a heavy heart. A messy soul.
A reckless mind, that lacks self control.
She wore nothing but shades of grey.
Her finger tips blue, from writing all of the words she couldn’t say.
She’s always been a silent fighter,
with demons on the tip of her tongue.
Taking away her breaths,
right from her lungs.
She won’t take any judgements,
on the bonds she needs to untie.
She won’t listen to those telling her how to suffer,
and how to cry.
Ignoring the murmurs of others she looks up at the sky,
as tears start to roll down her cheeks,
that tell a thousand stories she’s too afraid to speak.
Her heart cries for help,
but her face is all smiles.
Her emotions unsteady,
hiding she’s been crestfallen for a while.
Something she’s learning is that she needs to undress.
Starting with her buttons of worry and stress.
Undoing them one by one,
brick by brick.
She knows it’ll be hard,
for she’s built them up thick.
She was once asked why she sometimes wears many layers on warm sunny days.
She said because they made her feel grounded,
but maybe it would be better to just FlOaT away.
Giving in she wandered around searching for something that will finally set her free.
Lift her off the ground,
high above the trees.
She is like a kite with it’s string still spooled tight.
Closing her eyes she drops all of her burdens mid flight.
After realizing how unhappy she has been,
she choses to live as light as air,
never again to lose sight from there.

Swaying ever so slightly in the ever so slight breeze
With no competition and an abundance of leaves,
The limbs stretch out horizontal with ease.
Saggy branches cast shadows ever changing not still,
Surrounding the ground at the base of Greg's mill.
The death of the farmer, an absence of relation
Resulted the rotting of wood and the estates decimation.
From the numberless seasons of decay and neglect
The mill, exhausted from age is still somehow *****.
Thick grass and means weeds form a bush-like combination
That blankets the mill’s base and destroys the foundation.
Dilapidated, homely and a touch out of place
With time, the farm, a memory will be easy to erase.
Things will run their course, land and estate will all fade
For nothing can escape Mother Nature’s crusade
A thought that’s ironic and slightly more grim
Is the fact that Greg's creation has outlasted him.
Since immortality is a myth that She will never permit.
Soon the mill will be gone like the farmer who created it.