It's not the subject that I miss, but the feeling
of a time a little more simple and sweet.
From the shadows of my memory come,
hazy pictures with blurry faces and
moments immortal, yet not crystal.
Hard times have become shrouded by the waxing good,
the loud has become soft, and the soft loud.
A sweet whisper is an obelisk, enduring, prominent while
memories once harsh have scurried into the dark alleys,
places at once difficult, dangerous, and unrewarding to explore.
Reflection is a sunset, golden and warm...
trails drenched in yellows, and orange and
oh! but it burns to look ahead and
the path traveled is now comfortable. So, here
with a yearning heart my soul does say,
it is well.