Black Eyeliner and Short Skirts

An original poem about memory and youth.

Fleeting memories dance alongside me

As I feel it all rush through me again, that undiluted

Excitement, feverishly so, or is it nervousness?,

Invading my senses and sense of

Awareness in this place.

Returning to my old haunts

I stop to consider the girl who came before me.

How free she must have felt! I remember now!

Or maybe not,

The hands wound round, always too fast, I think,

To take her away from the music and the crowds

As they seem to do now.

Remembering it all is

Like trying to capture a glimpse of the moon in the daytime,

Ethereal, unattainable. But it’s there, somewhere.

I’m sure of it.

These souvenirs of a time

Of being so blithely adrift in an innocuous youth of

Black eyeliner and short skirts,

Fight against being exposed,

Unwilling to emerge from their hiding place.

(I can’t say that I blame them, I suppose, for

Wanting to stay in the comforting confines of the past.)

It wasn’t me, or was it?

The feelings evade me now, my mind

Seems to falter when I think of her, or was it me?

That girl, that place. The music whispers now

Instead of screams.


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