The other night,

I found myself within open fields.

I was not alone.

There were children spread throughout the grass

All sitting quietly.

All content in their solitude.

I walked through these fields

Possessed by St. Nicholas,

Putting in overtime hours

During a summer morning.

In my sack were a variety of plush toys.

Each designated to a child.

All of them coo with excitement

As dolls and stuffed animals

Provide companionship to these unadulterated souls.

I'm reminded of the innocence of my youth,

The days before I became ill.

These moments

Before I felt my sadness

Would turn me into stone

And possibly kill me later on.

Those times

Before I thought I might have already been dead.

The era of my life

Where I felt depression would be a norm

That would be easy to uphold.

I shake off that load

As I continue to pass through the fields.

To my surprise,

I witness my son in an area of the grass

That is particularly bright.

The melanin within his skin and hair

Glow like Times Square on a Saturday night.

For him I have a cotton monkey

That he affectionately refers to as George.

I feel joy

As I pique the curiosity

Of all these beautiful spirits,

But seeing the smile of Owen

Made me tremble

As if I was being detoxified

From the narcotics of my misery.

All the children

Sing praises and whisper hymns.

I lay back on the blades of grass

As the faces of the youthful ones

Are reflected upon cumulonimbus clouds.

The bliss shall precipitate

To the earth below,

Moistening the skin of all that dwell within the fields

Without masking the shedding

Of sorrowful

Tears.

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