the ‘august’ of my childhood

for I remember when only as a child

I would on a hilltop nearby

cry out my fears alone at the edge of gravel

a pathway held my dreams

and my sanity

for alone I could scream

without being known,

only I might be the wiser

in a world so overthrown

as some confusion,

the medley

of a young boy

nearing his own insanity.

 

for I would then depart that hilltop,

walk the gravel trail,

return to my world,

this sea of humanity,

claiming to know the truth,

by their actions,

those of which I watched

intently,

wishing to find some avenue

a comfort level

would give allowance

to teenage angst rather than a

labeled disorder.

 

for now might be all the decades of time

the traveling monologues

starlit nights,

and golden sunrises,

clouds might give some detailed reminder

of life as it is

meant only to be lived

rather than caught in some constant

scrutiny of why that determines

well-being.

 

My struggles well documented

in the porous fabric of my mind,

tales of which I might

redefine,

in order that some peace of mind,

peace of mind,

peace of mind,

would that I could piece together

this static fame of mind.

 

I am in the ‘august’ of my childhood,

oh such is life that took us

on a roller coaster of emotion,

the different degrees of temptation,

obliteration of dreams,

the calming sea of

finding solace

in the truth

that speaks to that

lonesome road

so often felt

yet clearly denied

for sake of some

sweet symbolic stability.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

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