It was a mild day in the middle of the summer, not the type that glued your shirt to your back, but the type where the soft spoken wind whistled easy, breezy tunes if you weren’t too busy to listen. Me, being a kid, I was never busy.
The place many memories were made, where laughs echo throughout the woods. Splashes into the water below can still be heard and felt on a hot summer’s day. The rope that hangs, worn and weathered from young hands, gripping it tightly.
As children everything is pure
Endless and pure
As you age you notice the stars
Burnt out memories light years away
Only if you can see them
Past your city lights and suburbs.
In their memory we keep living on
And amongst our betrayal and companions
As our war rages on, I’m caught in a crossfire.
One side shrieks its anthem of misguided hope.
The other, facing reality’s certain dread head on.
While I, a teenager caught in the midst of battle, seek refuge.
I was sitting in my private school, around age 8
The religion teacher said, everyone sit in a circle
Close your eyes
Raise your hand when you hear God speaking to you
One by one each child raised their hand