an ode to a lament

[merkaba20]

it's written in the constellations and it is heard in the dying leaves. it is reenacting itself in endless loops in the pale yellow lights that send sonic pulses to warm all the lost children. what is this place? this isn't how i remember it. the history of my childhood echoes with a resonance that reminds me of a time when gunshots weren't lullabys. of a time when i would play with small soldiers. i search for my sillouette sometimes, after all the porch lights go out, inbetween the spotlights created by passing police helicopters. i remember when i was afraid of the dark and i would fear the haunting shapes created by the ever growing magnolia trees. those trees are gone now but i can still see them sometimes when the lights shine at the right angle and the stars twinkle in their favor. and sometimes i still am afraid of the dark, just sometimes. i fear the dark because i never know if i will ever be able to find my way out. but for all the past times and all those times to come, there are lights that never die.

i really don't know what inspired me to write the preceeding entry. but don't worry you guys, i'm fine. i guess it's kind of an ode to not only when i was a kid but when we all where kids and an ode to how things where. it's also kind of lament for the times of our youth that have long since gone

love, peace, and chicken grease