About This World

When I was a child,

crossing the street meant an afternoon,

a forever setting,

in a cloudless sky.

It meant things attainable,

like pebbles nearby a pond,

we could jump in if we cared,

smell like the seaweed and algae.

When I was a kid,

the street no longer mattered,

there were now tire tracks,

skidding down the driveway, 

the knowledge of gravel,

at a forty five degree angle,

became my greatest fascination,

long before 

Game of Thrones

or a fantasy driven monitor.

When I was a teen,

I began to know love,

the sort made my hands sweat,

my eyes became glued,

the beauty of woman,

and the jealousy 

found within the presence 

of the handsome manner.

Now a young adult,

I began to know pain,

though happiness occurred,

once the grieving had surely passed,

though one never knew,

until while hanging around,

they suddenly became blue,

during anniversary made,

holidays we’d take,

Now I’m an adult,

an older gentleman,

and crossing the street 

seems forever again,

yet the simplest task,

doesn’t wipe away grief,

still exists in my head,

in the redness of my eyes.

I look at the world,

and wish for some peace,

to know happiness again,

to understand childhood,

in all its bliss,

sweet simple naivete.

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