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Memories etched in the faded jeans of youth
like flattened petals long forgotten
between grayed ink and brown pages of paper
comes now like shivers to my soul
when my grown up eyesdig in to the depths of innonce.
Those dreams that used to flood the mind
when awe was common, and things were of interest
now abates like a stream crawling away in vain
from the plenty gush of the spring of vision and hope.

Ordinary becomes a theme, boredom replaces curiosity.
The new becomes no less than the usual.
Poetry, no less than words.
words no less than exclamations of
a man who has lost the passion to live.

Experience fashions each crumb of skill.
Like fresh wet earth molded into jars
hardened to be artistic vessels of life,
innocence increases its strides
mastery of romance is established
but pride stirs the calm, guilt disregarded.
And the once fresh heart turns to cold stone.

The echoes of light keep haunting the heart
begging to come back to its home
like water that attempts to sip through
the hardness of stone, it keeps pouring
to cleanse the shadows and the muck of pride.
forever will it be denied.

And then the emptiness.
The fossils of dreams and memories
have made a gaping hole out of the hard heart.
The memory of light reflect the the joy that had been
Before darkness took over and pleasures became unfounded.
It makes the stone crack just a little,
little enough for you to notice.
little enough for you to help me open up.