Wednesday, February 28, 2018

After-effects Of Youth

...and just like that-- what ever 'That' might be
Is gathered up and one more month 
is simply history...

I stumble on a wisp of blue and peer through smoke-hued haze
To trace faces and places lost, save to my shut-eye gaze
Where abstract panoramas splay and echo’s shadow lies
Like tatters from a page splattered with tints of paradise

…where once upon the gentle spawn of dawn to dusk we sailed
Blind to the ocean of spent leaves beneath the tides we hailed
Wild with a thirst roused by the durst that fans the dreamer’s fire
And firsts we tasted then, blessed-cursed with notion and desire

…before the firsts that hurt a bit because we realize
The taste of haste is bittersweet and takes us by surprise
While we began becoming nothing like our fantasy
Seasons slipped past our windows like a stream slips to the sea

The berth of Bygone groans beneath the weightless weight of days
I fumble with the hue of blue pressed into yesterdays
Where I cannot impress upon the nonchalance of youth
How swift the green of seventeen is scorched with ageless truth

…or how time’s prow cuts through the Now that rolls across a shore
How looking back, is like a strange mirage of nevermore
How looking forward is an art; the heart soft-torn between
A place mired in memories and what has not yet been

© Janet Martin

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed by the visit! I welcome and appreciate, if thought you care to speak; the value and the input of compliment or critique