Wind is howling through this house
Like inescapable tombs of our past
Flesh biting flesh
Wrapped with fabric so dusty it crumbles.
Yet in open webs I can still see through
Nostalgia hits an ancient bone
That even her subtle breath of wind
Finds it hard to escape duty of.
Slowly eyelids close as raspy sun strokes,
A dying ember reminds us each
That our throat of life
Calms the day’s very nature.
I could be falling over you,
Knocked down by time
Left here to wind my way
About books and seeds
And burnt candles
Handled by delicate hands
To the tune of Chopin
Rustling pages of a score
Over aged ivory keys
On a wooden floor
Showing signs of nostalgia
In gray and white carvings,
Had I known any better.
I don’t want to remember
Because the stories of my nostalgia
Belong to endings I’ve never lived
And lost songs I’ve left unsung
Ring on in my head.
I don’t want to play those records
Because they’re broken now,
And my heart reaches
Every time the needle skips,
And every time I drive those streets
I’m left shifting gears of a
Past I’ve left dead ended.
I am not alone,
I am not abandoned
In my misery
To flush out
Battling conceptions
And wish well
In long nights
That remind me of
Good times that
Never last.
I am not a mourner,
Neither have I been left
To fight this battle
With all my wisdom
– Shining bright,
And reminding old visitors
That nostalgia
Bites even the strong at heart
Who leave traces of life
In the wake of their presence.