The Meadow

The meadow appears more now then ever before,

Sitting behind him, arm over the seat, cigarette smoke rising, more and more, 

Leaning out the window, I see it for the first time,

The hot breeze washes over me like dark mist, only it feels kind,

The lone figure at the tree line,

Salvation or a life of sadness over time?

The smell of his cologne brings me along,

My sister smiles, why is she gone?

Its all so vivid, over so many years,

It comes, breathless and with so many tears,

The loneliness of the meadow,

The man in the shadow,

Again, was it Him?

Seeing through the eyes of a child, that sometimes stays very dim,

Only later to see, He truly was waiting for me,

We choose to go to the darkness or light,

Though 7 or 60, it stays bright,

Even when Im overwhelmed at what I've seen and done,

I see the smoke rising, hear my sister singing, know the summer is waning,

I think of that day, when that little boy saw the man, and turned away,

The blackness and despair was defeated, He won.