My thoughts, they wander,
Every day.
They flit, and fly,
And go away.
The bad, the good,
The sad.
And all the others,
The mad.
There is a word,
A thought.
That comes to mind,
When distraught.
A description of stronger
Reflection.
A recollection of
Defection.
A memory held close,
Near the heart.
That cannot bear to be
Ripped apart.
Of dewy leaves,
And snow.
These things will never,
Ever go.
When young and spritely,
Old and frail.
Oh, these things will
Never fail.
But not always are they
All good.
In a bloody meadow
Stood.
A man who once, stricken
With grief.
A vengeance upon his mind,
A reprieve.
A shadow of long-
Forgotten past.
The lullaby, a song
Heard last.
The agony in remembering,
Is always there.
Nothing to dim,
No one to care.
Can you sleep at night, thinking
Of what's done?
Remembering the
Awful sun?
That once at brightest,
Filled your day,
Now weeps tears of blood,
At what's gone away?
-livesoftball11