wistful.
MAX POND
to wander along old avenues, pathways and trails which we walked lost in memory, a meandering dream to swim, to float down rivers of recollection that wayward and twisting stream travelling so far from here so long ago drifting through forests, valleys, years how long shall i linger smelling flowers on the shoreline tasting what fruits hang low on bent branches the sweet, the sour tangy and tart savouring the flavours the intensity those past days still hold joy turns to
sorrow turns to joy
remorse swirls with ecstasy mingling and merging
14
as once we did
though how the light of that bliss, once brilliant, once burning is obscured and obstructed by a canopy of leaves and lives casting shadows, colouring and catching the radiance and warmth, reminding that this flavour is but an aftertaste that nostalgia is merely remembrance that then can never be now but timeless tides revive you crashing in – rolling back what joy what longing what joy distance washes away bitterness dissolving, eroding the pain
