Remember when the moon
was a silver coin,
tossed into the night
by a generous hand?
We traded laughter,
like currency at a
bazaar of boundless
possibilities and knew
mistakes weren’t as heavy
as these bricks we’ve
chosen to stack around
ourselves as if to build
prisons out of mortgage,
utility bills and rusted
knees. How easy it was
to believe in dragons,
and the way a puddle
could be an ocean.
Now we worry over
the smallest of things.
Forget the balance sheet;
remember the art of
spinning without a care,
becoming dizzy with
delight. Find the child
who whispers in dreams,
guiding you back to
days of wonder and sky,
to a world where even
shoelaces become tails
for flying comets—life
soaked in sun, uncluttered
by the weight of hours.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: January 3rd, 2025 09:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
- Users favorite of this poem: Lyricalremedy, Mutley Ravishes
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Comments5
Beautiful.
Memories mean age but with age a loss of innocense and we don't laugh as much. Nicely worded this poem has several great lines
How life is no longer how it used to be and we hang to those memories, but also stress ourselves these days over minor details, Enjoyed the read
Beautiful
It most certainly is. Dry intellect rules the day. Thank heavens its days are numbered!
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