My Younger Self (A poem) My younger self, who is no more, I hang his hat outside the door, I throw his shoes into the bin And warn him, Dont come in again. No matter how I lock him out He sneaks through cracks of timeless doubt And tells old jokes at my expense Reminding me of accidents, And every time I played the dope By clinging to a hopeless hope, Or turning left when I shouldve right, Or gambling hearts all through the night. Those golden hours so freely spent (And little left to pay the rent.) But these I laugh at -- the price of youth! Until he intones the most uncouth: One happy hour when all seemed clear -- I knew the moment, recalled the year -- And there -- a face! -- drawn to memories gray When I did not say what I longed to say. I did not say what I longed to say. And now, is it any wonder I Should wish my younger self would die?
Posted on: Sat, 02 Aug 2014 00:20:23 +0000
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