Gone,
The days of my childhood,
Gone forever, as with everything.
Just memories survive, into adulthood.
They linger to be recalled, especially,
as we celebrate, festivities.
Perfectly, they unfold themselves like flowers.
They take me back, so powerfully to the child I once was.
With those dreams and fantasies, playing now seems so strange.
Was that really me, climbing that tree?
Playing on the sand, running hand in hand
Being, three, always one, two, three
with siblings, on either side,
Two sisters, and a babe.
Our little boy we miss you still, always will.
Now I sigh and allow a tear to fall, why it was so long ago?
But life sometimes can be a bitch when it doesn't give some of us
much time, just to be. Like you our boy, my little brother
Why are you not here with us breathing sitting here by me?
Taken too soon, gone, just gone.
But I hear the memory, I see it play out like a movie in my mind.
There I am, building stick houses, and
Your little foot kicked them down
I hear your echoing squeals of delight.
And I, yes feel the angry at your little play.
"Never mind," a voice of wisdom rings out.
You know it means more than just this.
As our mother came and picked you up.
I built it again a whole town.
Yes the perfect place, that time.
So proud I was to have done such a lovely job.
Childhood memories as gems sparkle with brilliance in my mind.
Just as the sunlight catches the sea, sparkling here for me, in the here and now.
Into my adult world, I now go. Aging, changing accepting forgiving.
But still I recalled at will, the gems of you and me.
While I sit looking out at the sea.
This perfect day, full of umbrellas.
All different colours now dance in the breeze.
A seagull comes and glides to land.
The bird's little eyes, try to find a perfect morsel of food , something there
In the shallow pools.
Traveling alone by oneself, not in the pack, my feathered friend.
I do see you, there unafraid of humanity.
Your orange webbed feet dance across the wet smooth sand.
See, you bring me back to the here and now.
Gently, I let my childhood- self go.
So now I become what I must be
A poet, a friend, a mother and wife
And hopefully a better person
Because of those memories?
Just memories, treasured gems.
That seagull now flying on the breeze and dived
over the waves, so do I believe that this little bird
knew of the sadness in my heart? Still
A gem of a memory has now been saved.
As an ending to a perfect Christmas Day.
