a field called theatre

a field
of memories
missed opportunities
chances taken
times forgotten

the length
of our shadows
with help of the sun
bookmarking
pages
on this field

this here
belongs to me

there
lies your claim

what was ours
what is ours
to only ponder upon

now dangles

on razor edges
of thin barbed fences
in between

but this too
is fleeting
shape shifting

like flashes of past
generally tend to be

we remember
our truths
attired in wishfulness
the way we wished once
to be
and longed to see

morning to afternoon
evening to night
act as just lines

dividing this field
into chapters
verses
sentences
words
letters

begging to be arranged
as we best recall
an i before a u
a u before a v
till it all gets
muddy
blurry
slurry

the sun
the field
the fenced plots 
of this field
the drawn lines 
demarcating 
instances
occurrences
consequences

waiting

for things
from the past
in awareness
that they can't
return

this
this is a field
remembered

as 

assumedly lost

and 

presumably buried