Tiling the floor to make this room 'ours' and new.
The grout stuck under my fingernails reminds me of June
long ago now;
dirt mounds where we'd unearth escapes,
and breathe our souls through earth
to give life to the limits of imagination.
That seems so distant,
like something I'd only read
in someone else's book,
or watched flashed subliminally across a TV,
but I can feel it on my hands, now,
and know I've been down here before.
The coarse grit clings to my skin;
with its grey color
I paint the picture
leaving out the smallest details.
Some things you know you have to leave
to be discovered as we go...
Always you have to leave... it to be wondered.
If we can ever be good enough to deserve an afterlife,
then I wish to be sent back there for the whole of mine.
Tiles on the floor arrange an abstract representation of youth;
Anyone can see the pattern, but without the mind,
key to the mystery, there will be no scenery.
Left without the smallest details.
Some things you know you have to leave
to be discovered down the road...
Always there is something... still to be wondered.
Hey, there's a swamp out back!
What do ya say we throw ourselves into it,
and when we emerge see if we're somehow different?
