The Narrow Roads of Youth
A poem about those old days of foolish living
To spawn eternity like a flickering bulb
and build a bridge across memory,
so we can find that that which rooted us
into the soil of yesterday, while we
ascend that unreachable firmament.
Dreaming of the places we forgot
to mend. Dendritic love, scarred time
rumbles volcanic might across shattered
triumph of lustful nights. Stoned
we spoke of revolt like we understood
what it was to be the hanged man.
We called love by its name those days
stolen kisses under a twilight guise.
We dreamt we were cuttlefish
in the depths of another world,
a better place, a place interwoven
language of mescaline wanderings.
The loneliness entangled in doubt
When days were long,
hours unspent,
cannot be spent again
in death’s dream shadow.
In the web of debt,
we dangled waiting
for our time. Waiting
for that final desperate
chime. We emptied
our pockets of change
and tossed them into
Lethe’s fountain
of malaise.
We prayed
to nothingness,
waiting for youth
to come
Again.
