When a child, I lost
eight, and nine and ten,
with no thought what cost
was future paid, when
unchanged into now,
child from man again.

So adolescent,
as to think the score
I knew what was meant!
less is often more
I learned, grown less sure
than I was before.

Backward, could I go
into days long past,
learn again, and know
crayon colors cast,
pictures time creates
understanding last.

Much, which once I knew
In mind, each lost thought,
that memory glue
should still bind, does not,
and so much promise
remembered, forgot.

Talk story

  1. BetweenWatersUnseen says:

    A nice cadence and rhythm, word choice is also interesting. My one suggestion would be to go a little deeper into detail, who are you, y'know?

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