The idea of the past nearly

drowns me,

pulls me back between the pages of history

to days of soda pop and hopscotch.

The 1960's are long over

but my old heart sticks to the

long grasses that scrape the bottoms of

skirts drenched in colors made of gold.

The sun swirls through the clouds

that decorate the sky

where whispers of the past

meet the present,

a lake of swirling atmospheres

that soaks my soul.

My heart is now an antique

fragile, yet wise with age.

It's been handed down

throughout the years,

and has been worn just enough

to make it seem like something beautiful

when really, its best days are


So, excuse me

for it takes a moment

to get my

mind out of the clouds.

When I'm busy collecting my thoughts

I am also collecting my soul

for it occasionally gets lost somewhere

in the past,

because it hides

in fear of the future.