Memories Fading Fast

Long since the forgoing time of soft blowing wind,
Rustled the leaves along the fences desperate for a mend.
A scent-forgotten dream, remembering a wildflower season;
Absent in times present but not without presenting reason.

Stopping to ponder amongst tall grass growing;
The wonder of it all, yet void of the all knowing.
Illusionary at best, but still remains vaguely in traces;
Sketches memories in minds of no less forgotten faces.

The feel of the grasses as the blades tickle my toes.
Hair touching the cheeks of my face as the soft wind blows.
The smell, oh the smell, if only to be lost for a while;
In the smell of the fields across my lips breaks a smile.

This, the field of flowers that grew up in the wild;
Running fast through the petals, in the days of a child.
And lingers to stay if only longing to stand time still;
In the moments of the laughter from the child stirs a chill.

As familiar as the mystery of the eyes as they glisten;
While we watch in silence for what words as we listen.
For the tone in the voice as the child made a sound;
None, but the silent one sees not the dirt shift the ground.

Full sounds of deafening wonder, those innocent to the stare.
What they search for is in question, although finding nothing there.
Untrustingly they linger, and dilly-dally, curiously, quietly so.
In hopes to find all they came for, meanwhile the soft winds blow.

For a chance to fill the void with what was lost is the peril.
In nothing found, of nothing said from the life that is sterile.
Something precious this way comes from journeys of the past;
As it leaves a wake in dust to carry memories fading fast.

All rights reserved, c Robin Thomas