The Comfort in Being Sad

Here’s a new tune for the old days, back when…

Photo by David Marcu on Unsplash

I miss
the comfort
in being sad,
sang Kurt Cobain —
his voice
like acid
rain —
bringing
back
memories —
wheeling
through the fog.

As
for me,
I miss —
more than
anything —
the comfort
in
being
young:
handsome,
slim,
curious,
wild & free.

But
I don’t miss
my fragile
mind:
all those
anxious
thoughts,
swimming
furiously against
the tide.

I
miss
the
cold
nights,
& hot tea,
the excitement
of red
wine,
listening
to Segovia
for the first
time.

The
sadness
was always
there,
comforted
by the sound
of each guitar string.
I never
took
notes,
I only wrote
poems, when
the song no longer
needed
to rhyme.

Here’s
a new tune
for the old days,
back
when…
It doesn’t
matter
when.
The past
is dead.
The future
in now,
in the moment,
sunning itself naked,
in the new
dawn.

@

Zach Carpenter