Wednesday, 15 April 2009


"The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there." – LP Hartley

Running after the Past

A walk in well worn paths
Shaded by the fragrant roses
Of the passage of time.
Familiar faces, accustomed places
Sunlight and laughter
Remembered embraces.

Your eyes are sadder, maybe wiser
By memories of old mistakes,
Ageing misunderstandings
Finally understood;
But your hand reluctant
To stop history repeating itself.

You yearn for the past,
Your remembrances precious:
Of friends, sweet wine, good times.
You yearn for a past
When I was writhing in agonies
Impaled like a butterfly by the pin of your love.
Each passing second a tear
Each of your smiles a dagger
Each of your nostalgic moments one of my hells.

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