A sweet sigh the wind does give, through gaps of branches thin.

Clinging leaves release tenacious holding, drifting softly on the breeze.

Below a myriad of green, rippling as might waves of the sea,

Rustling, making naught the softest of sounds once alighted- this leaf.

Hark! Laughter bubbles through the stillness, a sweet melody of sound,

Ignorant of life, of all resting at one's feet, a child ventures forth- into unknown.

Face haloed in gold, framing one's face feathered lightly with pixie dust.

A gaze of innocence, innate and undulating with thoughts of light and joy.

A crown of daisies placed upon her head by small hands of a young prince.

Ah! A feather-light kiss upon boyish lips grants no wishes this day.

Young prince, take pity on this gentle child; steal away childhood dreams.

Too soon must one age, like brittle grass it begins to slowly wither.

Her sweet smile vanished amidst torrents of tears, ungrateful of this deed.

So quiet is the distance stretching, expanding until she vanishes

A hunched crone stands amidst the green, undulating, rippling as might the sea.

The young prince run away, fleeing before what he has done.

Old crone with eyes wide and blue, peer into the past and remember

Held within wrinkled fingers, a crown of daisies sit in the palm of her hand,

Her young prince has gone away, stolen by the dark of night

Her childhood lost, his tongue did spear the hopes and dreams away.

"Lay down your head, old crone, old friend..." a whisper near her ear.

She closed her eyes, listening, straining to hear but only wind is heard.

Ah, no laughter breaks the stillness, no joyous cry of delight.

Ignorance and innocence, tied together with a stone; set in the water to sink.

A sweet sigh the wind does give, through gaps of branches thin.

Clinging leaves release tenacious holding, drifting softly on the breeze.

Below a myriad of green, rippling as might waves of the sea,

Making naught the softest of sounds; the old crone, closed her eyes and died.

Here, I am lost

in the place of

EXPECTATION.

I am a raindrop

in a typhoon of

ARTIFICIALITY.

I am washed away

like a forgotten

sandcastle

by the tide that is

SOCIETY.

Seated upon a yellow hill, of grass brittle gold

the past encased in worn stone; memories of long ago.

Relic of ancient memories, frozen in time's embrace

holder of hope, cradler of wishes; remain in stoic place

quiet laughter, children's feet, climb those ruined walls

echoes of coins tossed into it's embrace; lost in murky waters

whispers of secrets told before: can they be lost now?

only once you were remembered and again you shall be forgotten.