Joey Jones


Field of Joy


They flock to the field,
its lush colors draw them in,
the promise of substance,
the peace in the swaying grass,
the sparrows, the ravens, and the doves
they find pause, but soon look back to the sky,
that draw of what's next beckons them,
their wings lift finding air
and the field for them,
becomes just a memory.

The deer, the squirrels, and the coyote,
pass through from time to time,
ever cautious, always expecting the worst,
more prepared for flight than fight,
they hunker down, sneak along the edge, or race its range,
their hearts beating wildly in the open vastness,
never finding the shadows needed for security,
they seek cover in the forest again,
it becomes for them just a memory.

I came upon its lushness once as a lad,
the perfect hand of first love in mine,
we ran along its edges in bliss,
finding a new substance in each other,
laying in its vastness we released our inhibitions,
we found our pause, but only a pause,
our fears and that beckoning of 'what's next',
drove us from that wondrous field of joy,
and like the fowl and deer before
it became just a memory.

A perfect memory,
of a field and a moment,
forever lost to time.

A vivid memory,
never lost to my thoughts,
of a perfect field of joy.

Joey Jones 8/2014

Submitted: Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Topic of this poem: love


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