Still That Boy

There once was a lad sat in Carlton town,
By an old oak tree where he’d often sit down,
Not lost in a daze—
But deep in his plays,
With whole other worlds spinning round.

I saw myself brave with a sword in my hand,
A knight riding strong through a faraway land,
Fighting dragons and flame,
For honour, not fame,
Doing things only dreamers had planned.

Then I’d turn to the sea with a shift of the day,
A pirate now sailing wherever I may,
Through storms I would steer,
With no sign of fear,
Captain of all in my way.

Travelling farther again—past the stars I would roam,
No longer on earth, no longer at home,
Through galaxies wide,
With courage as guide,
Finding places no one had known.

But I never stood there on my own in any fight,
There were others beside me, steady and right—
A wizard so wise,
A warrior who’d rise,
And a healer who carried the light.

Together we faced whatever would come,
Dark forces, hard roads—we never would run,
Each strength played its part,
Head, hands, and heart,
And somehow the battles we won.

But life has a way of quieting dreams,
Or making them smaller than how they once seemed,
I thought I’d outgrown
The worlds I had known,
And left them behind— merely dreams.

Till a time in my life when I felt off my feet,
Unsure of my path, not steady or sure,
And I reached back inside
Where those old voices hide,
And found the boy was still there.

Those heroes I made weren’t just in my head,
They were lessons in how I should walk where I tread,
Be brave when it’s tough,
Be kind when it’s rough,
Stand firm in the words that I said.

I picked it back up—not the sword, but the way,
Not the ship, but the choice of how I would stay,
Facing life as it came,
Still playing the same old game—
Just with real things that come each day.

Because truth is, that lad never really left me,
He still sits by that oak where the world used to be,
And when I write lines,
It’s his voice undermine—
Still shaping the man that you see.

Not a knight, not a pirate, not lost up in space—
Just a man trying hard to stand in his place,
With a bit of that fire,
That old, quiet desire,
And a boy— still writing truth through his voice.

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

This poem is drawn from my own life, a reflection on the boy I once was and the imagination that shaped me. From knights to pirates to distant stars, those early dreams never truly left—they grew with me. It’s about rediscovering that voice, and realising the child I was still sits within me today, quietly guiding the words I write and the man I’ve become.

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