white tree (just believe)

opening wide
to a white, windy world
yellow lines through the grey,
like a racetrack waiting
for blood on the roadside,
freedom's on hold,
child,
no time to play.

but didn't we dream of following dreams?
isn't that where i am going?
shouldn't we laugh and celebrate the fact
that for once this year, it's snowing?

wipe off that scoff,
son,
it's wrong and it's right
it's age and wisdom and regrets
and all that.
we might as well drop it now,
if it's a source of anger,
we all know that ovens turn off
when we're not watching.

regrets.
you're familiar with those.
maybe that's why you're not smiling
despite the snow.
old facts
like blood on the road,
yellow through grey,
no one knows where it goes.