Used to Be

Just a quick note; an introduction if you will…

This week, I thought I’d do something different and write a poem instead of an essay. So, if you were expecting a new essay today, check back next week.  Don’t worry, my poem is the old-fashioned kind – not freestyle or modern poetry. It’s just me, writing from my heart. I hope you take the time to read it; it would mean a lot to me.  

Used to Be

It used to be so easy when the skies were crystal blue,
And the clouds created Canyons just for me and you.
Dragon heads, tiara crowns, and beasts no eyes can see,
Floating high above our heads today in silent majesty.

Devastated magic trills the thunder rolling through
Ancient eyes evoke the gloom that was once so bright and true.
It used to be so easy to dance and praise the rain
Now it’s hard to feel the joy beyond this palisade of pain.

Wondering with jaded thoughts where those feelings went. 
I look with clouded, weeping eyes at nothing relevant.
Just another struggle, just another day of pain.
The walking path I used to love, I will never walk again.

The days close in around me, with intentions clearly cloaked
My legs are frozen to the ground. My choices are revoked.
I am drowning in the present while reaching for the past
To find the guitar player who knew it couldn’t last.

And the long-lost boys of Second Street, whose names I still recall
Who practiced in a cellar and wrote songs upon the wall.
The boys who grabbed a fishbowl at a tavern by the bay
And waited for the stardom we were sure would come our way.

But life came fast and quickly and scattered us away
And all that’s left are echoes of the songs we used to play.
How fast my life raced past me; no warnings were received.
Memories stained and fading of all that I believed.

I stand upon a hillside and look down the hill below
And see the lonely graveyard and almost everyone I know.
The monuments seem minimized, but each one still tells a tale
Each stone a quiet author with a story to regale.

My body is now broken, no evidence of youth.
Just the resignation of the one sad and final truth.
My friends are sleeping peacefully with the memories that they made.
They lie in silent perfect peace on the hill where bluebells fade.