The setting sun,
upon the open field,
where we played and laughed,
we fought
and I cried.
I remember the blood spilling
ever so clearly,
smashed in the face
with a 2 by 4,
my body rolling down the hill
landing in that very field.
Its here I lay
ever so softly,
the world spinning,
my eyes closing,
left to wonder
why.
Fading from my own view,
I begin to watch myself
from the sky,
the bird's eye view,
twisting and soaring,
leaving my body in ruins.
I see the field now
with the golden sun,
the kid in the grass,
the blood on him.
And it is here I see
the rose of my life,
my blood
its peddles,
my body
the stem,
the field
my home,
the sun
my release.
