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Ghostyard *
I should have packed a scarf, but hindsight's 20/20.
The morning chill wraps itself around the mile
Of barren crops, twisted trees, crowing birds aplenty
And rows of grey with no variance in style.
Ever elusive, I hid even from myself,
Never realizing that the years were passing by.
All of my dreams kept gathering dust on the shelf
And I simply allowed it without asking why.
Now I stand amid the self-imposed chains,
The rubble of my own making,
At last letting go of that which remains
So there can be no mistaking.
No more innocence shall die.
It is time to say goodbye.
