Those days, before we were old.
When a fold of cards was more precious,
Than a phone.
When a ball and bat.
Magically summoned all the kids,
Out to play in the sun.
The hose pipe provides us energy.
And fruit off trees was our food.
Now I stutter on a cliff, once again.
Wondering whether the darkness is better.
I like the cold these days.
I've changed, like a butterfly from a cocoon.
All I want now is everything.
All the good things amalgamated into one.
I'm tired of the boredom.
What I crave is freedom.