Beside Myself Poem by Jim Young

The ghost of a boy longing to play,
turns his face to me.
Fixes me with pleading eyes.
'Come back, please come back.
Come back home, and play with me'.

I know this boy,
for this boy is me.
But such longing
I do not recall.
Or do I?

A vignette tear blurs
the surrounding stones.
Home is where the heart is.
But where is home for me?

Give me the child and I will give you the man.
Or so they say.
But here the child is asking of the man,
come back home to play with me?
Oh man!
Oh boy, oh boy!

That enigma so heartaches,
but I am afraid to turn away.
For looking at the child,
I can feel the dark in me.

Dark moonstone eyes ripple
the shallow depths of childhood.
'Hold my hand' he says 'come on! Run with me'.
And I am gone, fleet-foot on the meadow's
pollen joy coating a summer sky.
Why? Oh why?
Did you look back at me?

Our goodbye fingers slip apart.
Receding faster, smaller, fainter.
Stop! Don't go. I want,
I want?
I...
What do I want?
Of you, looking back at me.

Give me a hug, so tight we melt
into each other, to the other side
of time, my spinning won.
Oh how I wish, I wish.
But alas no.
I cannot come out to play.
I have to stay in today.