An Ode to Nostalgia
As a child, I would lay
Under the willow tree.
Ev'ry warm, summer day,
I felt relaxed, happy
To watch swaying branches
Move in the sweltering,
And aeolian breeze
As if spirit forces
Had just been rust'ling
From heaven's canopies.
The rocking, zephyr wind
Would make the green leaves shake.
My senses, too, would rescind.
Half asleep, half awake
In a daydream of youth
For all its innocence
And childish abandon,
Ignoring forms of truth
To see its resemblance
As some sort of Eden.
Ev'ry morning, the sun
Rose in a golden glow;
The day itself woven
To its crowning halo,
And I would rise with it
Though it's heat made me sweat.
I'd find comfort in shade.
Under the tree I'd sit
Until the sun would set
And all the light would fade.
So, alas! All light dies
As the night becomes dark.
In his bed, the child lies
Distant from that spark,
The old fire that once burned
At the tip of the wick
Of his waxy candle.
Though by now he has learned
That changes are phasic;
Each moment, temporal.
Now, it feels like an ache—
The pain of passing days.
Moving forward will make
The past farther away,
So our time will thus stack—
Sediments of magic
Too alluring to resist.
How I wish to go back
To mem'ries idyllic
That don't even exist.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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