When I was young
The meadow meant nothing to me,
With all the birds in the oak trees,
Along with the stinging bees
Similar to life; Life has stung me.

The simple calm of the night went unnoticed,
My eyes on the piece of tech were focused.

Fireflies dance around,
And flew, not obvious to my knowledge.
However, I just didn’t care
For all that seemed to amaze was phone light in the air.

Ignore the world, technology demanded.
It helps to forget the pain, it tempts.

But now, to my despair, I now long to feel
The bees and pain and fireflies and the rain.

It is now years later, I’ve grown old.
The life I’ve barely touched and known was gone,
All I can recall is the battery percentage on my phone.

I can’t forget the feeling of
So much time I’ve wasted,
I’ve never even tasted
All the experiences I’ve lost.

Now a man sits next to me
and laughs about that one time in December but still I don’t remember,
He tells me about the fireflies,
And I wish I had taken the chance to gaze upon them like he did.
Now he talks about the meadow, but it is gone,
And all that sits where grass once flourished is not even a lawn,
But is a new parking lot.

Life did not sting me, I’ve stung myself.
There’s no going back to the meadow.