Remember when we climbed the tallest tree
With no hands, as we fell on splintered dreams?
Remember when we backpacked in the back
Of your head, as we yelped our sorrowed pleas?
We embraced the suicide of our minds
Sans heed, only to glow patterned logic.
That’s right, shining bright, not my type, despite
The right type of light which turned into night.
Again, our tears, dry like our suicide,
Whenever it was, took us by surprise.
Like its Happy Birthday on Christmas Eve,
But, its April fool’s on this Halloween.
Oh the fluid wood, We knew that it would
fuel our wind. Oh we thought that if we could
Think back to when we climbed the tallest tree,
We would long for some hands to keep us free.
Originally written February 27, 2008. I usually keep notes on my poetry, but for this one, they are missing. So, in regards to what it was exactly about, like if it was a particular memory, I cannot recall, but I do remember it has to do with nostalgia and the innocence of childhood. I will leave the description at that; and then you, as a reader, can come up with your own interpretation -- as I do like seeing how others interpret my poetry.
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