Foundations.

Hands clasped together as if he's praying,
head tilted to the sky, his body now shaking.
Concrete towers surround him,
as his faith is rocked to its foundations.
And to console him, most just
offer their 'deepest' commiserations.
It might not be enough,
but sometimes it's all we can do.
When life doesn't make sense
you can't always expect words to.

Choice.

Our future is not a battle to be won -
it's a story to be written,
a tale to be spun.

A sense of destiny, like fear -
is one to which we choose to adhere.

(And too much of either is enough to
drive a man near to despair)

Look past shallow veils of 'fate' and fear -
the choice to choose was always here.

Ash.

The scolding hot ash gently falls from the sky.
Slowly, lava latches on to land.
You can feel the heat, but it doesn't burn.
The molten rock engulfs your feet,
it doesn't scold, but it should.
In the next five minutes you would have
had to swim, if you could.

Suddenly it stings a little.
A strange sensation where the liquid stone embraces.
Then the pain blinds the mind.
Docile expressions become twisted faces.

The now cooling ash gently falls from the sky.
Slowly, lava lies, and covers the land.
Stone cold, yet burning.

Oak.

He would sit by the Grand Oak tree for hours,
rain or shine, he would be there.
The end of every school day he'd brush past flowers -
pools of colour that would ripple in the wind,
just to indulge in the safety the Grand Oak offered.
The perfect escape from the dark and the unkind.
Nature embraced and nature was embraced,
"A problem is a problem no more only once faced" -
his father's words sat at the back of his mind
as he sat against the Grand Oak.

A fire branded these words to the forefront,
where the flowers were piles of ash before the Oak.
Ravaged by fire, no sign of leaves or life around,
once more a small figure was seen sat upon the ground.
Nature had taken but once before had embraced,
and it seemed to him its last act had been
saying these problems are problems best faced.

Dwell.

The Time Traveller, in theory, could
do all the things I know I would -
correct all of those mistakes from His past,
and cherish those moments He once thought would last.
It's easy to dwell upon such fantastical things,
itching a desire inflamed like lasting insect stings -
but I know that the The Time Traveller,
in theory, should
do all the things the same.
He could not sacrifice the rest
for his own personal gain.