The Time Gone

Through muddied lens, I see a child's hand, Holding on to his mother in a nice small home, She carries him inside and a sweet smell evolves, As a fog envelopes and the dream ends, Too determined to relive those days, To escape from this tiring reality, I unveiled my 20 years of patience and toil, A Machine, that will give me a second life, Of innocence, of purity and of unrusted joy, I sat in my machine, pulled the lever, Bade farewell to this old deteriorating self, As I opened my eyes, I saw the same garden, Now the mud was gone, there I saw a house, But....my hands wore the same wrinkles The pain in my back was no more less but... I saw the child, his mother in the sweet home, I smelt the sweet smell of the trees, I remained a mere spectator, Forced to feel, denied the touch.