What it looks like inside my brain.

I’ve never come here before,
Alone without the pomp and circumstance.
I thought there was no need for solitude,
but I should have made the chance.

From here it looks like so much fun,
children spinning in laughter and song.
Their mute and icy eyes tell a story ,
of a cold winter that lasts too long.

A pile of weathered and sopping toys,
amid thorns and flowers wilting away.
This small and crowded playground,
Is not a fun place to play.

If I could just take your tiny hand again,
We’d go off to play and laugh and run.
You might tumble but I’d kiss it better,
And the tears would always turn back to fun.