Leaves blowing across the pavement,
Scurrying and scampering like so many little mice with their nails scratching on the concrete surface,
And no one but I will notice or even spare a thought.
I have entered a state that comes about every so often.
One could call it poetic,
yet it is no more than a mind detached
from so many other earthly things
and set in the gentle meanderings of simplicity.
It is like the simple joy that is felt within the childish heart
in creating a towering city of blocks, or a drawing of beings that defy the laws of physics.
I will not hesitate to say that those memories bring back some of that which is missed.
For in the world's current state are found monstrous tides of complexity
where relief and the darker side of enjoyment are found in flailing arms
set the throbbing beat of a base and flashing light shows
while intoxicating substances flow through systems,
taking away the memory of the strain of life,
and leaving their painful mark.
I seek none of it,
for my only solace is in the simple things while the state may last.
And now the muse has left again
until that time again may pass.
