Pieces of the Past

An image of neglect in rusted metal and airless tires.
Return to the past out of a distant memory,
For a traveled stranger returning home.
The wind brushed like an angel amongst the trees,
Flying him back to a little boy on a red bike.
The sound of laughter echoed through the field.
Speeding along a country road,
Just a boy and a bike.
His legs were churning as he rushed past the wheat fields,
Hair swirling with the wind.
Some things cannot stay,
Time catches up and the bike is thrust away.
Thrust away in the recesses of past times,
Left to age and rust away,
Like a time worn photo album away in an attic.
Awaiting the day when someone stumbles upon it.
Bringing them back to the world they used to know,
But now is far away.
He cannot stay forever,
Memories flit away, forcing us upon the future.