Tag Archives: Youth

Old Heroes

Where, where do my old heroes lie?
Bereft of shining armor, spewing now
A putrid light to ill-define
What was never before in any doubt.
These were the ones in whom a fool,
Or myself, as I was soon to find,
Would place their hopes, for lacking not
In pleasant fantasies: a child’s mind.
Not a hint of recognition,
Divorced from the idealism of youth,
I cannot spy those men who gave
To me, the sweet dreams of a better truth.
Still innocent eyes are to demons drawn,
Atop the pedestals we placed them on.

Eyes of a Child

I looked in a mirror one soggy day,
As if to peer through a soft waning storm,
And hoping my shape would fly far away,
In release from this tempestuous form.
I barely caught it before it passed,
Just a faint glimmer, from eyes I’d thought dead,
That had long since forgotten the summer sky,
Or the soft grass on which we made our bed.
Those eyes used to sparkle beneath the stars,
Crackle and burn with the weight of the moon;
Their luster was lost behind time’s cold bars,
And forever now lost and out of tune.
And I’d trade it all for but one more day,
The eyes of a child to light my way

Stay Golden

Stay golden; such words meant nothing to me,
Who was so young and was so free.
All their words proved to be but doublespeak,
A million promises they never could keep.

I remember the days before there was time,
Waking hours were but an endless climb,
Towards far flung futures not yet known,
Those beautiful lies we’re always shown.

At new awakening of spring within,
That first caused these cold lips to sing.
Our love was first, will it always last?
Surely it must in a life with no past.

Into each day I could sink like a stone,
Perfect isolation though never alone.
Never again will I journey so deep,
Now the way back is far too steep.

The simplest pleasures were still new to me,
Like a blanket I wore such naïveté.
But already unclean, my mind always dragged down,
I never needed eyes to see what was around.

Weaving well worn lies across the brain,
To not accept is to be insane.
And so foolish was I I thought to believe,
Such wishes as only come true in dreams.

If only my first angel would once more return,
The Christmas-time feeling into which we’re born.
With perspective come only those doubts which drive,
Straight into the fabric of being alive.

And perverting the mind that never unkind,
Would have lashed out in anger ‘gainst those who have time.
As for myself I wish only to lose,
A madness the world did not let me choose.