I haven't thought
about flying
for a long time.

I haven't dreamed
of that moment
when I was alone
above the clouds
for a long time.

Haven't dreamed
of waking up in a room
surroundered in
blue and green grass
for more years
than I care
to remember.

I haven't walked
back into the past
nor scratched on the
doors of the future.

Not opened
up the secret door
at the back
of my cupboard
nor have I
reached for
that magic button
which'll explode
me into life.

Instead I sit here
silent in the shadows
with a drop of melochy
and half baked memories
as friends.

Instead I sit here
in the shadows
like the ghost of
Christma past
and beg you
to listen to my story
of the hero
the world
has forgotten.

I was a hero
who lived
in a city
which'll you know
with a knowing smile
if I whispered it's name
to you
but then
was a haven
of dark mazes
and clattering criminals.

Nowadays
I sit here
with nervous nightmares
as my days
are a combination
of a million sunsets
cowboys have disappeared down.

I watch the shors
brush against the coast
like harsh tragedies
and feel the windows
shake softly
which is trying
to offer a escape route
or a return
to former glories.

I watch the world
march on
in new, different directions
with new buildings
crumbling into dust
and then rising
from the ashes
like a freshly born phoenix
but sometimes.

Sometimes I wonder
what the view
would be like from the top.

Sometimes.