- Nov 11, 2003
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Remember the time of the sky?
When I used to know how to fly,
I was high where the earth couldnt feel my touch,
not a care as a burden so much.
Seems those days are captured,
everything stolen and tattered,
Remember the old archway?
Nothing we really could say,
just that it was lovely as before,
crimson flowers you couldnt find at the old garden store.
Last I knew it is broken,
again..my innocence was stolen.
There were the limestone streets,
the old age man with his guitar, playing his beats,
what a beautiful way for bare feet to walk,
as I heard the harmony of the old mans talk.
Sadly then, I heard of his death,
same I heard the beautiful street blew its last breath.
My heart broke at the lost righteousness,
when all we knew was the essence of tenderness...
All I know now is passage of the of corrupt
seems like a black and white world, the hate about to erupt.
Yet one day, I sat at the sea,
the gentle breeze spoke some words to me:
Not all that is lost is truly gone,
one day there will be a new dawn.
But...It wont be like the old light,
something fresh, made to be right.
Remember how you flew?
I promise those days under the Oak tree dew,
Everything you remember of the passing days....
When I used to know how to fly,
I was high where the earth couldnt feel my touch,
not a care as a burden so much.
Seems those days are captured,
everything stolen and tattered,
Remember the old archway?
Nothing we really could say,
just that it was lovely as before,
crimson flowers you couldnt find at the old garden store.
Last I knew it is broken,
again..my innocence was stolen.
There were the limestone streets,
the old age man with his guitar, playing his beats,
what a beautiful way for bare feet to walk,
as I heard the harmony of the old mans talk.
Sadly then, I heard of his death,
same I heard the beautiful street blew its last breath.
My heart broke at the lost righteousness,
when all we knew was the essence of tenderness...
All I know now is passage of the of corrupt
seems like a black and white world, the hate about to erupt.
Yet one day, I sat at the sea,
the gentle breeze spoke some words to me:
Not all that is lost is truly gone,
one day there will be a new dawn.
But...It wont be like the old light,
something fresh, made to be right.
Remember how you flew?
I promise those days under the Oak tree dew,
Everything you remember of the passing days....
Dani, I like it. It's been a while since I've read any of your poetry... I like it a lot.
