Red Herring

When I am older, with shallow breath
and hair that runs grey through many shades,
and a job that puts endless weight on us.
I’ll come home from picking you up, a tight hug
that’ll prove how much I need you.

When you are running around free through
the astroturf at our bland home because now
you’ll never be able to feel the real grass.
You won’t see a leopard roaming free
and have your mind full of imagination,
a mind full of shades of faux colours and hopes, dreams, and aspirations.
You’ll have to face that world I’m scared of, alone, and I can’t bare to tell you.

I’ll put you to bed with the light on in the corner
as the sun can’t paint the skies a beautiful orange, and the moon can’t help us see the stars and the galaxies from miles away.
A job that feeds from depression and insomnia
and not from all passions and desires.
A world that slowly crumbles to the core and
kills itself from all the waste and damage
we’ve done.

One day, when you are old, with broken eyes
and lines that showed you tried to enjoy life,
you’ll only hear these stories of the real world
from the man you’ll see lying before you,
My little Red Herring.