All those memories,
Come out to play,
At the end of the night,
What do they say?
Then remind me of the old creaking swing set,
We used to sit on and share a good laugh.
That old broken down slide,
And the time you fell right off the side.
The door that's off it's hinges,
That led to our old play house.
The one our father made us,
He spent years on that thing.
The way that the wind whipped past my face,
As we ran through the fields behind my house.
The way the grass felt,
On my little bare feet.
That all changed though,
The grass became concrete,
All the things that had made those memories,
Burned to the ground.
The memories remain though...
The good and the bad,
Those well,
They'll always remain.
YOU ARE READING
My Book Of Poetry
PoetryPoetry...it comes from inside, not from my mind...it comes from my heart, it's the way I express my emotion...not all of these poems will make sense, not all of the poems will be good, but they'll all hold a part of me...Hope you enjoy.
