I remember when I was nine,
I had my own piece of heaven.
During the summer, I rested in the shade,
I played in the mud, I chased chickens away.
I remember the flowers that grew,
the weeds that killed,
and especially those pesky thorns that pricked
my feet.
I remember the "pond" I made,
I remember those adventures I had,
all those times I played...
But I also remember the day...
.......Where all that went away.
Two years later, The sky is an ominous grey,
it really wanted to rain,
I pass by my old house and remembered my
sacred place.
I silently make my way towards the back...
and stop to stare in dismay.
The weeds were dead.
The tree was bare.
Trash was littered everywhere.
The pavement was splattered with strangers blood.
There was no life anywhere.
My escape...
My sacred place...
My little piece of heaven..
was converted into something similar to doomsday.
