Fields Aflame

When I was young there would be fields -
the sort the kind that springtime yields
in gentle rains and gentle sun.
in waist-deep grass my realm begun.
and I could hide from all the eyes
and I could swallow up the skies
in high, soft towers i would fall
and not be there should someone call.
perfected youth, this pleasant game,
now i set those fields aflame.

when i was young there would be fields -
tall, grassy knolls would be my shields
against the world for hours and hours.
as i'd lie back and laugh to flowers.
and they'd laugh back, and i'd be free
no one in the world could see.
my hiding place, my kingdom vast
my little realm not meant to last
my escapade my pleasing game
but now I set those fields aflame.

the flowers are no use to me,
the softest mediocrity
can't hide me now that i am grown,
can't hide the wound of left-alone,
can't keep the calls from reaching ears
that search the sky to calm the fears.
my field will burn, its solace done.
and i will leave. no - i will run.
you see the signal? ash and smoke
that blots the sky and makes it choke
on memories it helped to make,
on memories and hope's mistake.
a childish game amidst this grass.
i see now that it had to pass -
this field, this realm of silent games
is swallowed slowly in these flames.
is swallowed whole in all these flames.

when I was old there were no fields
nothing left no spring no yield
when I was old I say with shame
I set the fields, all aflame

©AmbientBlack