A Return to YouthI see muscled stone on earth
Echoing but solid frames,
an unlikely tomb.
Ephemeral as play-do thumb prints
That painted the walls,
Our touch has left
And the mirrors alone
cast what remains of us.
Sitting on the pebbles
waiting laughing holding crying,
Memories alone propped our past.
Now they're gone,
I doubt I was ever there.
And I smile. For bitter-sweet
Are unsuited as haunting,
Half remembered shadows of this house.
They sit with me
and watch that muscled stone crumble down.
Poetry by ----------
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Written on 2011-11-21 at 13:45
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