Braqish Water Poem by chris bowen, a.k.a to wit

seems i remember the slow pain of small town life
a creak in the door didnt mean changes
a walking carpet was comfortable and unworried
the news brought shame to self relief
my moms dinner was pain to another
still i remember the shadows as friendly
going out side to ride bikes was unthought of
hitting the trail by noon meant good times
wading through a creek bed left me under myself
where was the magic from god? all around
did it bother that i was unfortunate? no.pb&j was good enough
what happened to the magic today?
wheres the lament? come on, take me there