Aging Memories

This place, this space, rings hollowly, in
memories of those who used to overflow it.
Even echoes of the past are fading quickly
into overwhelming silence more and more.
And I know I must move out and on,
discarding all the dreams that kept me
here through all the many years before.

An errant tear for one last hug; to have and
hold what was so dear once more; as fear of
the unknown takes hold and wraps itself
around my heart and soul. What I built to be
so whole and solidly connected, has been
shattered into bits and pieces now, slowly
yet so violently, that nothing I can do would
serve to mend or gather all the pieces
back into coherence once again.

The parts I played, those roles upon that stage,
are simply over. The play itself so old and worn,
that banners (hung so long ago in its announcement),
grew old and torn. Unreadable, they hang upon
these worn out walls in shreds, within an atmosphere
of dread increasing in the air I try to breathe.
Dust gathers thicker day by night.
I seldom have an appetite; for all I loved grew
stale before it melted and then disappeared.

My calendar is clear these days; the phone so
seldom rings; my energy abandons me, as
hopelessness becomes extreme. Betrayed,
as if my destiny itself no longer cares to
whisper of a pending mystery. A veil hangs
too heavily oer doors that used to be so open
and so innocent. A scent of cloying age
assaults me, every time I stop to take a breath.
I wither as I while away this time; no longer rushed
by any need for clocks or speed, for only
make-believe and memory fulfill the needs
that I so deeply feel.

I ought to sleep, but even sleep evades me now;
while little naps seem more than I can bear. I
need to share so much, but no one real will even
take the time to listen now. Instead, they look
at me with pity and a cloying sadness in their eyes,
that once were so delighted by my wit and charm;
abundantly I used to be alive.

I wonder if I might somehow just let it go within
my sleep; and drift into a mist of lighted fog,
where I might have the chance to live again
the gist and meaning of these aging,
yet so poignant memories.

Once elders were respected for the wisdom
they had gleaned in the experience of every
moment lived. Yet it seems that nothing I now
do or say can matter much to youthful ways
not in this modern day and age - not any more...

? Michaelette ?

5/9/2001
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...