Where the Pavement Ends

The creek, still speaks my name.
Though I imagine it to be raspy
and faded with age.

The forest still carries the faint tone
of carefree laughter
and the pattering footsteps of my childhood.

Pine is the scent of my youth
and green is its color.
Never have I had friends as I did back then
and love always found me
in the summertime.

Nostalgia is such a cliché,
but then again
so is life.  

It’s here where the pavement ends
and the age of innocents and wonder
collide.

It’s here
where I so often long to stay,
though nothing, but ghosts remain.