The idea of the past nearly
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.
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