with little remorse, little remembrance,
of the days we’d play, we’d laugh away
our time -- so sublime
were the moments etched in bark
by blades of our own beating hearts.
and to think that so much could occur
when all that’s left is markings
on a burdened tree, clinging to feeble roots
with little sun, with little water;
only age remains, counting circles
one by one.
raking the leaves we’d once fall in --
singing tunes no one cares to recall
and we’d crone like old crows
chilled to the bone, thinking desperate hopes
and desperate thoughts on our lips.
each second colder.
a requiem for october, who kissed
tender moments goodbye.
we’d then lay our heads in restless beds
wondering if sleep could cure this plight;
that this night would be ours, and it might
if only, if only.
but we silly creatures keep
breaking the branches we’d swing from.
Spoiler
So this little piece was actually inspired by a fellow YWSer's piece. SmylinG's Like 98'. Her idea of nostalgia really made me ponder my own childhood and, well, lack of really remembering any of it. So, pretty much, this was me expressing those sorrows.
I won't get into too much detail about that. Make your own opinions
. And please, rip it to shreds. Its not one of my better poems. In fact, it might be one of my worst. I'm not even sure why I posted it :/. Oh well.
I won't get into too much detail about that. Make your own opinions
~Walker
