"sandpit" poems
These are the hard times,
the long stretch of coal-shed days,
the corrugated nights of the antinomian.
I retch at the old doubts and the panoply
of dustbins clattering bright,
their watchers simian in the morning ****
I dress as though dredging up greys,
monotone deep in the GB tradition:
now sandpit tea with oil stain floats
silt dreads the mass of a seven year clay.
Four weeks of shadows drown wind in a storm.
And dreams of my cottage
in days of such calm and late summer happiness
as brought cut corn and strawbs
and horse manure in hugs
until like Zulu tribesmen the birds appeared.
Hunched with expectation
Spears smiling like baddies they rushed me.
I woke pouring sweat like a workhorse
the weakest of defences laid up
my face pulling cellophane over French windows.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while
Heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies
Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst
Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?
Let us die young or let us live forever
We don't have the power, but we never say never
Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip
The music's for the sad man
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever?
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever?
So we livin' life like a video where the sun is always out
And you never get old and the champagne's always cold
And the music's always good
And the pretty girls just happen to stop by in the hood
And they hop their pretty *** up on the hood of that pretty *** car
Without a wrinkle in today 'cause there's no tomorr'
Just a picture perfect day that lasts a whole lifetime
And it never ends 'cause all we have to do is hit rewind
So let's just stay in the moment, smoke some **** drink some wine
Reminisce, talk some **** forever young is in your mind
Leave a mark that can't erase neither space nor time
So when the director yells "cut," I'll be fine, I'm forever young
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever?
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever?
Fear not when, fear not why, fear not much while we're alive
Life is for living, not living uptight, see ya somewhere up in the sky
Fear not die, I'll be alive for a million years
Bye-byes are not for legends, I'm forever young, my name shall survive
Through the darkest blocks, over kitchen stoves, over Pyrex pots
My name shall be passed down to generations
While debating up in barber shops
Young Slung hung here, Shorty, the ***** from here
With a little ambition, just what we can become here
And as the father passed his story down to his son's ears
Younger kid, younger every year, yeah
So if you love me, baby, this is how you let me know
Don't ever let me go, that's how you let me know, baby
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever?
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever?
Slamming Bentley doors, hopping out of Porsches
Popping up on Forbes lists, gorgeous
Hold up, ****** thought I lost it, they be talking ********
I be talking more **** they nauseous
Hold up, I'll be here forever you know I'm on my fall ****
And I ain't waiting for closure, I will never forfeit less than four bars
Guru bring the chorus in, did you get the picture yet?
I'm painting you a portrait of young
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever?
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever young?
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
Alyra, remember that day?
That day at the park?
You were three, and I was eleven.
We went to the park with Daddy, Mummy, Molly, Arielle, Ella, Erin, and Pete.
Remember? You played on the playground with Ella and Arielle.
While Erin was teaching me to play basketball.
It was around August, so not too hot.
After we ate lunch, the big kids played touch footy while you went to the sandpit.
At the end is the day, when everyone was talking, you presented me with a big bunch of dandelions.
I told you and the girls to collect some more and I'll make jewelry with them?
You would take off that silly neckless for hours until it broke.
Then, I plaited flowers through your hair. You looked even more beautiful then you already are.
Just before sunset we danced and danced and danced.
That was the day you taught me 'Doggy Doggy'.
We watched the sunset - all of us.
You were sitting on my lap telling me about your day at kindy the day before.
Alyra, baby girl, try and remember.
Because one day, you won't be a baby girl anymore.
You'll just have memories.
That is why I hang on to them so hard. Because I never want to forget. And I never will. Not when it comes to you.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
I am just a toddler in the sandpit of time
I shimmer slightly in the night
and sometimes sparks fly
I am a mono clastic fire
so hurting with desire
that I will never fulfill
So as the sound of drums beating begins
I stand back on my feet
spread my wings liken to a phoenix
to do it all again
Been broken
but always seem to repair myself
just a toddler in the sandpit of time
Bu Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
I cuddled upon it since birth,
It was the friend that kept me
Calm,
Peaceful,
Friend
Of my sleepy times, always there,
But I awoke and Blanky wasn't there
"MUMMY"
"DADDY"
As both ran in,
"What is it our little one"
Tears streaming, words jumbled in emotions
Mummy stroked my hair
Daddy Sshhh....
Sshhh...
Sshhh...
Sshhh...
And all was calm in the world,
B, B, "Blanky"
Has gone away,
Mummy soft spoken voice speaks
"Lets check your bed"
No not there?
***** trained detective looks around"**
Sniffs the air,
Sorry mummy that was me,
Mmm... to the playroom
High, Low
Here, there
Places searched but no where found,
His thoughts of blanky and sweet sleep,
As he searches each room, doggy sniffs
Come on Hairy,
He checks his bed nothing but hair,
His baby mind thinks back to the other day
Blanky and me,
Me and Blanky,
To the garden Woof, little fingers can not reach
Woofs hind legs stretch up,
"Good boy Woof"
As the door opens to
The great outside,
Near the sandpit
"No"
Near the grass
"Neither"
Then he spots it
Then its seen,
"Blanky I have missed you"
Hanging just out of reach,
"Detective work is never as easy as it seems"
A baby has skills, as he takes his *****
Sticky patches take hold and on top
Of a head, smelling fresh,
Not that just thumb ****** sleepy smell
But we can change that,
Blanky wrapped around
***** dragging behind, a new one needed I think,
"Mummy"
"Daddy"
"Its solved"
The missing blanky case is solved
It was washed, ***** it was once,
But so soft and cuddly once more,
It needs that just slept smell,
A detective is off to get snuggles sleep
Till the next case awaits, till I awaken
Its sheep time for me, goodnight or day everyone sweet dreams.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
ETERNITY IN A GRAIN OF SAND
She takes an old broken cracked conch shell
a dried up Corsican starfish
sand from her backyard sandpit(slightly damp)
dumps them all on her nice clean new sheets.
“I’m bringing the seaside to bed! ”
she announces
her creation
(like a little God) .
Hours later I peeped in
to find her
asleep by her seaside
Dreaming it...for real.
I tuck her & her seaside up
gently
against the coming cold
tiptoe away
trying not wake
either.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
**** all the children get a chance at the sandpit... only the dog collared ones attempting wrestling matches of biceps tonguing rhetoric touring waggle get the pulpit... kinda **** if you ask me: said sir sacrifice-a-lot when sir lancelot married; but all the **** happened after the ukrainian ***** it was the russian bourgeoise one... you forget you dim-witted bolshevik... the russian one... the russian one! not the ukrainian one! ah crap... too late, the crimson lunar eclipse from edinburgh to st. petersburg gave me mythological charisma; endeavour of the readers who can’t remember my tourism earning the year 2007 as distinct: i can earn an awareness of lying about the jealousy i have for the century of being a musketeer defending louis vix; ja athos! ein athos! i’m athos.... wrinkly & masturbated ******** toss! hey ** hey ** we dig dig dig dig dig, it's what we like to do... coal mine.... coal mine... coal mine... with a millionth diamond... we dig dig dig dig dig... hej ** do lasu by sie szło... high ** high ** unto abreit macht frei we go.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
You said you had a bucket list
I laughed and smiled
I pictured an orange one at your side
A yellow one for posh days. A red one today !
A Silly thought now it won't go away.
I have written for years under a pen name
Something just seeds me to write now and then
It then kind of struck me that it's not quite as mad
As when where children a bucket we had!
From sandpit to garden and beach holiday
It went with us always as well a *****
So send me a picture, from each of you trips
With you beautiful smile and your bucket In it!
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
Ingrid climbed over
the metal fence
by Banks House
and onto the grass
her mother's shouting
in her ears
her father's hand
fresh upon the flesh
of her thigh stinging
the early morning sun
came over
the flats nearby
the grey clouds
promising rain
she climbed over
another metal fence
and crossed over
into Jail park
to ride the swings
or slide
or just sit
by the sandpit
and muse
and wait
Benedict would come soon
or so he said
the night before
as he walked her
to her door
hearing her parents
rowing
the park was almost deserted
a few kids
in the sandpit
one on the slide
she sat on one
of the swings
and pushed off
from the ground
her thigh stinging
as she moved away
reaching for the sky
her feet in the air
trying to get there
she leaned forward
then back
to get herself higher
pushing herself
up and up
feeling the air
in her face
in her hair
thinking of how
her sister got away
with things but she
did not
she was punished
for little things
while she could stay
out late
or come home drunk
and back chat and lie
but she had only
to make a mistake
or say a wrong word
or look the wrong way
and it was slap
or whack as it
was today
her feet reached up
her black battered shoes
seemingly touching
the sky
she looked around
on the ground
at the trees
or kids
feeling free
to think
and breathe
and be
but still no Benedict
in sight
no sign of him
since last night
she missed him
and needed him today
someone to listen
to what had happened
to her today
she slowed down
the swing
put her feet
as brakes
to come to a halt
and sit and stare
then she heard
his voice
Benedict had come
cowboy hat
and jeans
and 6 shooter gun
and that broad smile
and he sat on a swing
beside her
and she told him
about the morning
and the slap
and thump
and whack
he listened
and saddened
and took her hand
and said
let's go find our horses
and ride to the place
that cowboys go
in that far away land
and she nodded
and said
we can have a cabin
with curtains
and a wooden bed
and table and chairs
and land to have
as far as the eye
could see
sure
he said
where ever we are
your parents
won't be.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 4:47 AM UTC
Reach for the sky
Ingrid said
as you and she
swung on the swings
in Jail Park
your feet pointed skyward
your hands gripping
the metal linked rings
the wooden seat
beneath you
and the sky
was a fine
summery blue
clouds were white
as engine puffed smoke
and you said
my old man
nicked money
from my blue
money box
I never saw him
I just heard him
early this morning
with the rattling
as he used a knife
to eject the coins
Ingrid gaped at you
as she swung
beside you
how much
did you have in there?
she asked
couple of quid
I expect
you said
now it's lighter
and rattles emptier
why did he do that?
she asked
you pushed your feet higher
and bent forward
on the swing's chains
and up you went
reaching for the sun
he needed it
for a packet of cigarettes
I guess
you said
but that's thieving
she said
he'd say
it was liberating
coins for a purpose
of need
you smiled
has a way with words
if not much else
you said
you studied Ingrid
as she swung at your side
her black scuffed shoes
the grey once white socks
the sleeveless
stained flowery dress
which came to the knees
her dark hair
pinned back
with the metal grips
her thin wired spectacles
with her large eyes
staring at you
if I'm ever given money
she said
for birthday
or whatever
my dad takes it
and says I've been
too bad to have it
once he almost broke
my fingers open
to take coins
I was gripping
you tut-tutted
and looked away
as you rose higher
the trees of the park
and bushes
seemed miles
beneath you
and the other kids
on the see-saws
and ropes and sandpit
or on the tall
metal slide
seemed so small
and you remembered the time
Ingrid fell off
the ropes
and grazed her knees
and you helped her up
and helped her hobble
to the first-aid room
near the toilets
and the stern
middle aged woman
in charge there
helped her into the room
and sat her on a chair
and you stood there staring
made a mess of these knees
ain't you deary
the woman said
best get you cleaned up
and she used cotton wool
and some purple smelly stuff
to clean away
the stones and dirt
and blood
and as she lifted the leg
she saw a blue green bruise
on Ingrid's thigh
you have been in the wars
the woman said
with a shake
of her blonde
haired head
not wars
you thought
her old man's belt
more like
but never said
and Ingrid cried still
her face red
the woman's plump pink fingers
cleaning the knees
the blood seeping through
the cotton wool
and you
just standing there
giving it
your concerned
and boyish stare.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC
I spot a Spider in the sandpit
abdomen like a gooseberry
and the colour
gooseberry green
tastes like regular Spider
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 11:53 PM UTC
To my future lover,
You know I hate this phrase, but “I told you so.”
You will brush my warnings off like bread crumbs.
You will forget that I explained every pothole and sinking sandpit to you.
You find the hair the shower drain and remember.
You see the middle-squeezed toothpaste tube and remember.
You search for the television remote and remember.
Remember.
That I am just as wild as my hair.
That I tell you that you are wrong even when you aren’t.
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “Good morning.”
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “I am sorry.”
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “Good night.”
That I have an eternally stubbed toe from tripping on my own feet, shoes, and tongue.
That I play too much.
That I cry too much.
That I am too much and too little, but that makes me just enough.
That I love you and will love you even when it gets hard.
Like burnt waffles and diamonds and your will and my skull.
If you misplace your memory daily,
I will remind you with my whispered words in your ear, with my gentle finger tips, with my soul bare before you.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
I can see you through this heavenly body
Eternal static to me
is death and life to you
A spec of light
An ocean with depths completely untouched by human skin
My heart beats with anticipation
Sweat beading and tear falling
Hands shaking and thoughts racing
I'd tell you I'm sorry
I'd tell you I didn't know my strength
I'd beg for forgiveness for
exploiting your weaknesses
like a glass bottle broken into a children's sandpit, like a design so flawed
You lived with it.
I can't live with this.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
It was about this time last year when
The flowers started poking their noses in the air
Deciding whether it is safe to come back again.
But then it is all down to the right temperature.
The delphiniums blue as the azure spring sky
With little white eyes in the centre of the flower.
Nearby the bright red poppy on parade, on standby
Next to the red hot poker, the tall yellow tower.
The robin, the mad red pilot, and the blue ***
Perch on a branch covered in blossom so pink
Their beaks sandy from pecking in the sandpit
And their feathers shining like the kitchen sink.
I love spring, when life in the garden comes back
Yellow buds appear on twigs galore
The bare colours of winter gone; white and black
Fresh colours of spring have returned once more
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
*there’s a motto,
treat a cat like a cat,
when a cat ***** in your bed
smack him over the head for him to learn
and...
gentlemen never drink in the morning.*
the last motto can be changed to:
gentlemen never drink in the morning
unless they take the remnants of the whiskey
with coffee... now you’re talking irish gentlemen,
or perhaps northern irish, because that’s
where the english ***** bank was established...
that great big sandpit known as lough neagh
(that's ulster... or ulcer?).
blake was wrong... there are more ***** tadpoles
in every *********** over the years than there
are grains of sand on the seasides and stars in the universe...
it would be counterproductive otherwise.
i’m not going to be one of those repentant drunks
who suddenly find poetry or prose
lacerating myself on ‘oh poo poo poo’ memories
and how one can become a respectable citizen via newspaper publishing,
**** that, **** you, eminem gave me all the clues;
swearing? taking oaths? it's called punctuation in połlish.
come on celt... let's tango!
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
When I was a kid I lived in a fairytale.
I had my parents, the king and queen of the kingdom
Who loved me unconditionally and doted on me; their baby girl
I spent my days chasing butterflies and trying to grasp on to those last remains of Summer
Before the Fall came
And oh what a mighty Fall it was
I was sixteen when my life stopped being all about fairytales and happily ever afters
And became a mixture of bitter hatred for this reality and yearning to revert back to those Summer days
But I can't, I can't reach those early afternoons playing in the sandpit of my childhood,
Or those evenings when I would run back to
a home cooked meal sitting ready for me on the dinner table.
And now as I wander ever faster towards the winter of my life, all I have is the memories.
They say you shouldn't hold on the past
But why not, when the present is burying you right where you dug the grave which you labeled the "good old days".
And the photographs on the mantelpiece come tumbling down as you begin to realize that mommy isn't perfect and daddy isn't invincible.
They're human.
And humans hurt, and they heal and they love, and they feel.
And never will there be a day when I look back and think, "hey let the past be the past"
Because now?
Now I live in endless agony, crippled by my fear of growing old; getting married, paying bills, and growing my family.
and facing the heartbreak that everyone has at least once in their lives.
If you're lucky, it's quick like the pain of a band aid tearing off your skin.
But if like me you're not, then I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for the pain and the slow burning ache that will settle itself in your heart and never leave.
Because sometimes,
A person will nestle a home for themselves in your chest and they will be with you all your life.
No matter what happens, even after marriage and children and all that comes with it.
You will grow old and in your last moments on this earth, you will reminisce about that love you lost all those years ago.
Not the one who got away-
But the one who never left.
To this day,
I live as a memory box
Constantly reminded that when you grow up, life's a ***** and then you die.
But you'll always have the memories to remind you that life was not always this way.
That sometimes, it can surprise you
And make you laugh like you've never laughed and cry like you've never cried.
You'll live like the uphills are mountains
And the downhills are cliffs to drag you back down to reality.
© Elle 2016
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 7:22 PM UTC
why why why?
Only one in what seems like a desert of none
one face, one smile
still only a mirage, a muse.
It's been so long since my mind t’was drenched.
sympathy
why, so dry, am I to die?
I shall ever climb myself out of this sandpit;
but shall it ever escape me?
The winds ride over this land turning all I see to dust anyhow.
A mountain in the midst of my muse would not last.
It would be swallowed up by all this water.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Sparklers and orange bloom
flowers that only shine at night
and wake in the dawn with light and furious colour
like the fourth of July, crackling steak on metal
smoke and seeping juices, screaming meat
rare, just as you like it, on this, our independence day
(everybody cheer) or was it the eleventh?
I forget such things now and then
surely, it's the eleventh for them over there, playing in the sandpit
and the eleventh hour, no less. Tell me
did you see the game?
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 6:26 AM UTC
My temple is made of words
in the centre I do now stand
I wave my hands in gestures
and compose my dreams
Their is no strain to me
for it comes naturally
this gift is heaven sent
therefore I will sing it's praise
I dreamt of a beach of sand
and when I woke it was in my hand
my dreams are truly vivid
I hope that you understand
When I dream of ancient wars
I always come back with scars
I stride time like a child
a child in a sandpit of time
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
My son absconded with
Half of the sandpit
In his sneakers
It happened to hide
Until it was safely inside
And, even then, it waited
To spread all over
Freshly scrubbed floors
(Sand is diabolical,
You should know)
I would happily
Return the mess
But at the time
It seemed best
To clean up
Before it progressed
(sand craves to
spread untidiness)
I can further attest
That this latest theft
Was unintentional
And this confession
Unnecessary but
Sometimes it feels good
To confess something
Less outrageous than
The darkest of truths
NCL August 2019
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 6:18 PM UTC
one thing being concerned with
ideograms like with the Chinese defences
having preserved an offshoot from
Egyptian depiction,
but another thing to be in a sandpit
playing with orthographic changes -
by now you realise the Chinese encoding is
too complex to change, not enough
plasticine in it, nothing mandible,
you need skeletons, and even though
i'm not quick to boast, i think the matchsticks
of the affair deserves a pat on the back -
how a new aesthetic was born
from simply looking at the ß - to compete with
the Germans was necessary,
i ensured the Polish orthographic was in need
of revising, hence from sz (sh) came ß -
an ultra-diacritical suggestion of uniqueness,
but there had to be a twin to shorten the
rz into a ż of equal aesthetic concern,
hence the ʒ. in writing it's so wired, so dynamic,
no number of Mona Lisas can match up to it...
it's a ******* Frankenstein by the feel of it
with five blind-men and an elephant...
i know this will not become a standard of educating
people, i know this will take some time before
the revision takes assurance of survival,
but i will vouch on this revision via optometry
of how people read, perhaps reading more than
their current diet allows.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
There's a glitter in my eyes
When I've caught a kind of sleep,
A star who's come to earth to rise
Each morning from the deep.
And for a celestial second
I won't groan or creak
Old ship will slip through water beckoned;
Bare the world a bidden streak.
I can leave this sandpit
If only for a day
And look at all above the wit
That sleep has granted on my way.
I feel a better person
I feel a better son
For more important things may worsen
Moods of those who slower run.
For now I'll ring my jester bell,
I'll jump and dance and cheer.
I'm happy now for I do well
With all the sleep that's granted, dear.
And morning peach shall find me spent
Exhausted by this rocket jet
But I will smile for days that went
And glitters I have not held yet.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
I was in the throws of slumbers wakening my eyes
yearned for that moment of total tranquillity.
But pennies dropped in to my vacant pools as each
Rippled on the Edges of my eyes sleep gathered on
each corner and I once again blinked into endless
Whirlpools of thought that asked the same question
"Why can I not sleep,
I played with the shadows that played like children
In a sandpit but this wasn't the sandman's dust, no
It was the sand that gets in every crack. Washing it
Out of those place that need closing but always a grain
Irritating that place that never quite closes complete.
"I know I'll count sheep,
"What shall I get them to jump over?
"How many is too little, to much to count in sleep,
"One sheep.
"Two sheep,
"Three sheep,
Why was that one black? it looked at me with intent.
It wanders around my thoughts eating on the grass
Of my sleep deprived fears.
"Baaahhh,
"Baaahhh,
"Listen to me,
What the hell is going on, an imaginary sheep in
Onyx wool is talking to me?
"Slumber is death and I will keep you from it,
"I need this sleep to recharge batteries gone cold,
I think for a moment is this sycosis of not dreaming
Of eyes on full beam. Even though the bulb extinguished
Three hours before but I see the light in front of me.
This lamb chop of thought, this claustrophobic intent
It blankets my eyes. Yet my eyes see all that flickers
In nights shroud of eternal awakening.
"Stop you noise, of hooves echoing in my eyes,
"Why not let me rest like the dead in peace,
It jumps once again faster, louder till like thunder
Clapping and the light is darkness keeping me awake.
I scream at nothing, at everything then I sit silent.
"Hello an good morning and welcome,
" Its your 7AM wake up tune of the day,
I jolt backwards in confused glare, I'm a deer in
Headlights of obscured thought?
What the? all a dream of ill winds confusion. I gather
Myself and rehearse the night and find that this was
But a nightmare gleam, I think out loudly a music
Sings in a background of thought.
"One sheep.
"Two sheep,
"Three sheep,
Ill never let you in my dream, I'll count myself lucky
If I never count those counting sheep ever again in
A psychedelic sleep deprived theme.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
A balance beam
the edge of the sidewalk
Excavator escapades
the sandpit
Sundry scenes eclipsing face
Mom's cooking
Turn around
Nothing
Apr 11, 2023
Apr 11, 2023 at 7:40 PM UTC
If I could go back to my childhood
I tell you that I definitely would
Things were better in those days
Simplistic in many different ways
It was alright when I was a kid
Not many worries nothing was hid
And family life was really okay
Not like things are today
A few old times that I did like
Family holidays, my first bike
In the garden with my two sisters
Ones now gone I really miss-her
Happy times its not the same
Childish things playing games
In the sandpit our dad made
Outside when we all played
And our mum in her chair
by the fire when she sat there
All of the dogs that we had
Some where timid, some where mad
They made us happy, brought us joy
So soft and lovely like a toy
We used to love are life together
But nothing ever lasts forever
as time went on things then changed
People altered things rearranged
Some people left and moved on
Things where lost forever gone
Sadness and pain after a time
Nothing more then a distant mime
Trials and tribulations years gone by
And lots of things that made us cry
I liked it better when things where fine
Times gone by now memories of mine
Nowadays there's not much to say
I don't much like things this way
Okay there are a few good things
But I still don't like what the future brings
If only I could return, I was happier then
Relive the good times, be happy again
It would be lovely but so very far
Back where all my memories are
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC