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This is the first poem I wrote as a preteen.

You make up a dream of sugarcane,
step one, two, three through the leaves
darkness sets upon your frown.
Breath through this plain air.
They cannot see you here
and hours can pass,
and pass.
They'll stay in their life,
Broken birds who forgot how to fly,
and we can breath through this grass and ask
Why?
Simple thrills can entrance us here.
No cynical looks to disparage our views.
The shadows cast rainbows,
don't you see?
And the shiver of the wind
sparks silver in the air.
Fill this quaint field with colour,
with new lights
Spiraling through the night air.
And we will be.
Yes this is silence,
and you know it as I do.
Echoing our voiceless words
Through the branches of the trees.
Who knows us here?
Here
This is my home.
Alone.
With you.