My longing for past times...

My mind is thinking about old days,
Nostalgic moments come in waves.
Thinking of the good ol' times when I didn't care,
Because I didn't understand enough to be scared.
We would play our games and climb our trees,
Making up random rules and scraping our knees.
We played long and hard until the streets glowed,
From the street lamps and car lights as by they drove.
Our mothers would call us and we'd let out moans,
Wanting to play some more, not wanting to go home.
And as I walked back I looked at the sky on the horizon,
Silhouettes, purple skies, fiery clouds, I was in awe then.
The sunsets seemed more vibrant as a kid I remember,
The night air smelled more refreshing, in September.
And I remember one time when I climbed a tall tree,
I was up the highest ever, swaying in the wind, free.
The sun shone gold and the wind was hard,
When I was up there I felt like I was flying far,
That to me was the last real moment of my childhood,
After that I learned too much and understood.
The problem with money and how it etches our desires,
And the hatred it brings how it lights many fires,
Now I sit here writing my simple toast,
To those fun and silly times we miss the most.
Because we were kids back in those days,
And now those moments only come in waves.

Met a new friend...

So I met a girl tonight who likes eating flaming cheetos,
I'm glad it's that and not flaming speedos.
We like TBBT and talked for while,
About life and and the emoticon smiles.
I showed her my poetry's and rhymes,
And was glad she read them and had a good time.

My hands...

I used to look at my hands as a young kid, they always looked the same. I used them to climb trees, to play catch and to pick up rocks. They remained smooth with no wrinkles. A period of time passed that I hadn't looked at my hands, yet I continued to use them, writing, working on cars, moving rocks . When I looked at them again they were worn and wrinkled, lines everywhere, with deep grooves, telling my story.