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Looking Back MAG
On cold winter nights when the moon is gray,
I sit and remember the days gone by.
I wonder if I will ever know why
All my childhood years have since gone away.
It seems as though it was just yesterday
My mother was telling me not to cry
About the brand new shoe I could not tie,
Or the hide and seek game I could not play.
I often long to return to those years
Because worries were made of broken toys,
And not of the things that might someday come.
Never once did I pour forth any tears
Over the problems the world employs
Or the scary tragedy it has become.
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This article has 1 comment.
Questionable said...
on Aug. 30 2008 at 5:55 pm
I love the line: "Because worries were made of broken toys" -- it's so abstract and beautifully worded. I can see the images in my mind. However, the perception of the world as a "scary tragedy" falls a little flat because the rest of the poem neither supports this statement nor provides us with images/ideas/scenes that lead up to such a bold statement.
