by Richard Vince
The summer breeze faded with
An extended guitar solo, so now
All I am left with is time
To waste while I sit, whistling
As the ships pass my waiting form.
It has been so many years that
I no longer know who to believe:
Was my own account anything more
Than excuses, self justification, pleas
For undeserved sympathy?
Perhaps I am the only one
Who remembers there was anything
More to it than the inevitable
Drift of teenage tectonics as
Our twenties pulled us in
Different directions, adding geography
To the less physical reasons.
Although I know that I miss her,
I cannot really remember who
It is that I miss. My memory stores
Odd nuts and bolts, as is its way,
But not the person they held together.
As the sky darkens and the music
Slows, I am left to wonder why
I still obsess over lost friends
While failing to appreciate
The ones I still have.
Posted on 02/25/2019
Copyright © 2019 Richard Vince