Sometimes solitude spreads ,
The charts of my childhood journeys ,
In my mind like life teaching aids,
And I find myself in a forgotten familiar face
Of a boy burning with the zest of growing fast ,
A boy who had thought life to be beautiful ,
A boy who never knew beautiful things are deceitful,
So that when they turned out bad he became shattered
Into fragments called the realities of life .
A boy who now realises to grow is to wither
And remembers we live to leave,
That there are many memories to make of living
Yet little there is to time spent making them .