Pretty Parks and Pretty Dreams

Dear Time,

I’d like to tell you about pretty parks and pretty dreams.

I am in a park, and I see a young girl

with yellow-banded pigtails

swinging from the monkey bars.

She is beautiful in her childish bliss.

The warm reds and burnt oranges

of the autumn leaves tumble around her.

Onto the brown mulch,

she crunches as she drops.

And I find myself thinking about you.

I think about what it’s like to be back on those monkey bars,

young and naïve and content.

I think about what it’s like to not yet know

of the world and its turmoil.

Have you ever wished to give more of yourself, Time?

Have you ever wished to give me back the days

where the moon went down and the sun came out,

and all a new day meant was

juvenile happiness and unobstructed joy?

Childhood should be pure,

yet you aid in its corruption.

However, as the days go on I can’t help but want

more of you when less is all that is given.

So here I am now, in your presence-

yearning for past days in pretty parks

when pretty dreams came true.