Poetry

The Boy Who Was King

Playing backyard football
in the park, scuffed up
and dirty until just before dark
in the cool October breeze
of my teens, all the colorful
leaves tumbling along
rustling songs of promise,
of first loves, of dreams,
and all the learning I
have mastered since then
has not added to or
surpassed the wisdom
of that time, when all
the world was mine

5 replies »

    • Thank you 🙂 I felt it to be all of those things – wistful, bittersweet and nostalgic. One of those that flowed out quickly. I had the last line first, then wrote my way back to it. Writing is strange 😉

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s