The metaphor for my lost youth
lies here amongst this wasteland.
Trapped within the dust and stones
of this ruinous rubble.
I wonder, if I crack the stones,
will there be, concealed within,
like some sweet fruit of days past,
the echo of my joy and laughter?
I wonder if my returning,
time and again,
is not in some vain hope of seeing,
in the pelagic mist, a faint,
ethereal vision of myself, smiling.
Where once was heard faint chatter
and deafening screams of joy,
there is now only the hushing of waves.
Washing away memories of better days.
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