They ran the hell out,
And I stayed behind.
Something held me back
In the Mississippi mud.

It could have been the sweet taste
Of fresh honey sticks.
Or the distant rain smell
Of the newly wet mud trench.
It could have just been a want
To stay and play longer.

But then again,
It wasn’t.
I was held back by something more,
A force I still can’t escape.

Maybe it was the lost memories
I had kept hidden there.
Maybe it was the longing
For it not to end.
But then,
It could have been a desire
For my childhood to return again.

But no,
It was a new death that kept me.
An ache over the fallen and lost.
The bitter feel of what was being left,
In the Mississippi mud.