I took him back and he looked at me.
His eyes spoke loud and I sighed and went away.
Nothing I could say.
I live in this garden now.
But he still plays and races and laughs
And I can see him.
Is reality a product of my eyes?
Or is my mind the true source
Of all mankind and all is what I need it to be.
Is time a process that belies the truth?
That my son still plays here?
My eyes lie but my mind knows better.
Time is just a trick designed to fetter
Our hopes and desires.
I choose to live when things were better.