Call Me Wistful


Time wiles away, barely noticed by the clock.
I'm so lost in far-away journeys,
its awareness stalls my motion and stands still, my pace .


Careless moments pass by the wayside,

my gaze trained to the skies of yesterdays
and my mind wrapped around billowy clouds.


I grow nostalgic in remembrance
as days long past flit by like antique picture shows,
grainy and distorted by their long, stored away years.


In a mood, melancholy and reflective,
I languish in a woolgathering state,
preoccupied and pensive in this little bit of infinity.


Memories, fresh as the current air, wash over,

warming me, where I thought was now cold.

His face still a vivid dream, his hands still touching.


Some things never leave a heart so young,

A heart so broken and remaining still...

Broken, empty and longing for shadows gone.


Here, in this mere spell of perpetual forward motions,

I remain entranced by my recollections of former days.
I guess, you could call me wistful...