(c) Joshua D. Biddle
Take me back to the time
of our first disclosure,
when poetry was simply words
strung together forming childlike tales
of hand-me-downs and days gone by;
when sentences were sterile and metaphors
lovely in their innocence.
Take me to the time of budding flowers,
when motivation was something to be sought after–
a time for living, heart-strung
on sleeveless t-shirts,
working the fields, and minimum wage.
Send me back to the place
where creativity was boundless
and stifled silence from gaunt tounges
did not yet exist;
a time of heartache and heart break,
whimsical fantasy lore
and creatures of comfort.
Usher me back to the place where I began,
a place of stainless pleasure,
when bike rides were just bike rides
with no pretense and sex was naught yet found.
The place where abandonment was a lie
and the future still held all her stars in the sky.