now the hollow age

Voices from a Variant Past.

till the Last Petal falls
‘The past beats inside me like a second heart.’ ~John Banville

of an age gone by
of Martha and her likes
of an old banyan tree, a winding road uphill,
of hearts and souls now quiet and still
those, which once were glad and moving.

of old toys and rugged dolls, full of dirt
clad over memories of an age passed by
waiting forever for someone
to make their wheels turn,
someone to pat away the dust upon
and make things anew. 
Like the gilded old days.
All are gone, all the ‘old familiar faces’.

now the sad ghosts of the days
beckon us from the shadows,
that of Coleridge’s, post-modern Eumenides.
Had he been sad?
had Kubla done him wrong?

life has not much to do with time
of it all, only dust remains behind,
the rest is a mere memoir.

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