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.