Poetic Mic Poetry - Poetic Mic Poem --- The simple days gone by.

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Poetic Mic Poetry - Poetic Mic Poem --- The simple days gone by.

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Poetic Mic Poem --- The simple days gone by.

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Check out this poem: The 5th

The simple days gone by.

tomcat47

Date added: 10/01/2008

Total Votes : 0

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Poem Views: 33

The simple days gone by.

It is that time again, 4:30am ringing, God what a sin!

Out of the shower, time to get dressed.

Can’t find my car keys, hair all a mess.

Trying to make my way, in a place, that has outlawed fun.

So I roll back the hands of time, the clock in my mind.

I still remember, Tommy D and me. On the last day of school.

We can’t pay attention, acting like fools.

We walked home that day making plans for summer, all the games we would play.

On the banks of the river a pirate fort we make.

Hero defenders of our treasure chest and the pirates nest.

As the sun goes down we will, hide our treasure in a shallow ground.

Someday we will return for our, hidden plunder, our chest of gold.

And if we are real, real quiet. Mom will never ever know.

I think I will ask my mom if, you can sleep over, I think she will give in.

We can stay up late, play with G.I. Joe.

We can make a tent, out of blankets. Take in the late night, creepy show.

Maybe this time, we will find out.

Why that great big lizard, smashed Tokyo.

And if we are real, real quiet. Mom will never ever know.

This dream is feeling like, playing in the sprinklers on a hot summer’s day.

This dream is feeling like, walks by the river, wind blowing in my face.

This dream is feeling like, endless starlight that twinkles above our heads.

All the things, I left behind me. To become part of this world, of the 6 o-clock news show.

I need to pause, slow my roll. This dream feels too good, to just let it go.

Back in my dream world now, safe and sound.

I see sandy beaches, I hear the music playing, what a happy sound.

Hiding out under the board walk, in this seaside town.

With a girl named April, she has curly hair.

Holding hands, with my summer love.

My heart beating just like a drum, butterfly jitters, I was scared as hell.

Then the magic happens, as I hold my breath.

My very first kiss, the one I will always remember.

And if I am real, real quiet. Mom will never ever know.

This is the book, and all the pages.

The one I never should have closed, now the pages are old, yellowed and faded.

The chill of the summer is still in side. The best part of me, I have tried to hide.

As this world spins around me, I will pass it by. Find some grass, drink a glass of wine.

Spend some time with my self, relive some memories.

What I feel today, I wish to feel tomorrow. With out a tear, or any sorrow.

This dream is feeling like, my first date at a picture show.

This dream is feeling like, Annie Lennox, on a stage above my head.

Singing songs, that captivates my soul.

I felt the salt role down my check. I could not stay in my seat.

It was a joy that we all did share.

And my soul played without a care.

How did I misplace, the soul in me?

Did I trade it all, for a magic sack of beans?

Am I living on a barrowed set of dreams?

Back at home now, put down my things.

I see a letter, that was from Tommy D.

The words unfold, before my eyes. I start to read and begin to cry.

Tells me he’s a doctor, a life with wife and kids.

The space around has started to, box him in.

He wants to turn back, the hands of time.

To that place by the river, where we were pirate kings.

Go find our hole in the shallow ground, full of pirate plunder, our chest of gold.

Go hit the seaside, find our summer sands.

Find that girl, from that day you first felt love.

I know it sounds crazy, but it’s been on my mind.

All of the memories, from the days we left behind.

It happens every time, I close my eyes.

And that dream always feels like, cotton candy, stuck to my face.

And that dream always feels like, eating funnel cakes, at the rodeo.

And that dream always feels like, that big down hill run, on a roller coaster.

And if we are real, real quiet no one will ever know.

Andrew S. Harris III
September 30, 2008

Author: Andrew Harris

Posted by: tomcat47

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