While flipping through a dusty
And forgotten photo memoir
I found a moment on yellowed paper
Of a boy in a vintage car
Maybe he was scared,
His expression wasn't well
said But when I looked at his eyes
That seemed so cold and dead
I almost dropped the book
On it's brittle aged spine
When I realized the boy was me
And those cold eyes, were mine.
My worlds always been grey
The only color is in my dreams
And when you see a child smile
Know things aren't always as they seem.
©arsingh
A