The steps up which I once climbed
Now lead nowhere: they remain as a
Testament to the building that once
Stood at their head.

Where those dark, overheated
Teenage nights took place is now
An exposed, uneven patch of
Concrete that seems too small
To have accommodated the
Adventures of seventeen year old me.

My eyes are two of only a few
Who look at the grey emptiness
And still see the outwardly uninspiring
Concrete box that could hold
An entire evening of joy.

The street is now as empty as
That patch of waste ground.
It separates the levelled wilderness
From the bustle of the city,
Fifty feet and a world away.

The ancient streetlamps that
Lit the steps of so many feet through
The years now illuminate
An empty pavement. Most of their
Brethren are consigned to history,
While they are saved by forgetfulness.

My feet cast shadows in their
Pure, old fashioned light, and
Suddenly I am seventeen again,
Racing for those hallowed steps
And the secret world of wonder
To which they led.

02/03/2008

Posted on 02/18/2008
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince