Where have they hidden the real, I've looked for it every where. Buried in concrete, is it hidden discreetly in the smell of urban sprawl and renewal?
I remember the fresh smells of summer, late evenings and fading sunlight, the laughter and yells of children catching lightening bugs, dancing the night.
The radiant smell of June roses smelling more when they bloomed only one month, the honeysuckle scent was so heavy it cut through the air like a knife.
So where have they hidden the real, is it gone or has it just been mislaid. Is it hidden away where I can't seem to go or is that I'm just afraid
To acknowledge that those days are over and there never will be a return to the way things were in childhood and that this is a lesson to learn
That there is no return to what's gone, only memories traced in the air of a path back through lands that time has forgot and the only real now is here.
.
c. D K Forbes Compton
The Real
Where have they hidden the real, I've looked for it every where. Buried in concrete, is it hidden discreetly in the smell of urban sprawl and renewal?
I remember the fresh smells of summer, late evenings and fading sunlight, the laughter and yells of children catching lightening bugs, dancing the night.
The radiant smell of June roses smelling more when they bloomed only one month, the honeysuckle scent was so heavy it cut through the air like a knife.
So where have they hidden the real, is it gone or has it just been mislaid. Is it hidden away where I can't seem to go or is that I'm just afraid
To acknowledge that those days are over and there never will be a return to the way things were in childhood and that this is a lesson to learn
That there is no return to what's gone, only memories traced in the air of a path back through lands that time has forgot and the only real now is here.
