The Boy lifts his head;
Yonder, whisper the rustling blades
Of golden grass; yonder –
The Secret; he climbs the crest of the hill…
There – towering before him, the work
Of days gone by, a True beauty,
Wrought by forces unimaginable
Frozen in Time, the Only of its kind.
A step behind him; the Boy turns –
A voice in his ear, laughter;
A wash of memories breaking through,
Pulling at that ghostly veil…
I open my eyes, blinking – all is black.
Yet a flicker of a smile finds my face;
And Time, relentless, marches on…
~ Jordan Strobach-Morris, 10.03.2015