Though the years go sailing by,
From the rosiness of youth to wrinkled sagacity,
There is the single thing that reminds us of our purest self,
That grew within us; the truth that was, and that used to be.
Memories of the happy times.
When the world was our stage to command.
Hot cocoa, on a chilly Winter’s Eve.
Walking down Memory Land
Times of sadness and grief,
When we knew the child’s honor, and had no shame to cry.
Not allowing the world to break our strong will to be,
But letting the wind lift our wings to fly free, free.
Memories that last forever.
The very first spring that we walked among the flowers.
Our first breath of life
That diamondy beauty of a melting cube of ice.
Nature’s smell after the first rain.
The aroma of aliveness and raw sensuality.
Sitting round an oak log fire, under a stage of stars,
The feeling of true freedom; not the stifling sensation of being caged behind bars.
Yet, when out of childhood we step,
Into that age when we are supposed to be wise.
We lose the true wisdom that lies buried within us.
And we view life with world-selected, cynical eyes.
Childhood dreams buried deep down, in the core of our souls.
Our memories just fleeting symbols of who we once were.
Our truest self, hidden behind a mask of false humanity,
That hopes to break out- if our will is strong enough- and again fly free.