Persona Non Grata

Years catch me
Off hand, unprepared,
Too short for such a life
That should have seen
Delicate romances
And fierce troubles,
The days seem long
In youthful vigour,
Spring and summer
Awaited transgression
As if they could hold
Each and every memory
For long years to come,
Our days would become
An everlasting aeon.

Now, brief and forgotten,
Idle hands have grown
Too old for any work,
And no peace of mind
Can keep away youths sins
Today, each moment
Resurfaces and karma
Lays me down to rest
With unrelenting force,
The changing of the page
Sneaks up on us so fast
That there is no last chance
To now outlast wasted days
In the fleeting hours to come.

Am I such a lost boy?
I crawl throughout
The house of a life
That once was mine
To waste or make great,
Nevermore mine to take
Back each indiscretion,
Conduit and connection
Still hold spry hopes
Within this form, fresh-faced,
Juvenile, childlike, dreams
That fill my soul today
Are to young for the old
To play, An unwelcome person
Becomes my body
For the young trapped mind,
Where did my springtime go?


© Phen Weston, 2014.


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