When you want to be brave.

I remember when I was going to be a hero

in those bygone days when time moved glacially

in a series of predictable events

towards a tangible moment of expected elation

and when I could limit spatially

between a hedge and latticed fence

all that I knew of God’s creation.

 

I remember when I could vanquish evil

with PVC pipes that doubled as swords

when my bed was my castle

and could will the thoughts from my head into real life

when the world could be explored

and require no further travel

than closing my eyes at night.

 

And I say a little prayer every day

for that strength to return to me

for a world that dared to hope

and a mind that believed the unseen.

 

Yes, I pray to watch the luna moths dancing upon an ancient hero’s grave

To see the harvest moon, crest the desolate fields, how I yearn for those days

How I yearn for your fingers, laced in mine, our reflection on the pond’s water

The image of an us we’d never get to see, because we never learned to be brave.

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