Another day, another attempt at writing a non-rhyming poem, the same way someone who has never cooked before tries to cook a refined Pâté au les fines herbes without half the ingredients. This time, it’s a story inspired by a certain mood. You’ll see pretty soon…

STORY 3: As I Still Am

Every year I vanish a little more
Like a house moving brick by brick
Until one day I find myself visiting a stranger
        I know the pictures on the walls
        I know the faces that smile in them
                I know the texture of the table,
                I know the marbling of the ground,
                        I know the old memories that left,
                        of back when I was young
                                Young, as I no longer am

My Mind once was sharp,
        Full of ideas that would change the world

My Heart once was excited,
        Beating with possibilities, feelings yet to be had

My Spirit once was blazing,
        Aflame with resolve, decisions I would take for paths I would follow

My Soul once was grand, free, hopeful, and at peace,
        and so I would always stay,
                as I no longer am

Something changed, but I did not see it warp me
        Something left, but I did not feel it abandon me
                Something must have come and stolen me away,
                        stolen that which I no longer am

my mind is dull,
        a blank screen with nothing new

my heart is quiet,
        resigned to beat the same every day

my spirit is extinguished,
        surrendered to the cold winds of time

my soul is small, trapped, weak, and screaming
        that is who I became
                as I now still am

One day, the sun is shining
The birds are singing
The city is at ease
The world is resting.

On this day, I walk home and pass a bench.

Once long ago, I walked home and passed a bench
        I sat on it, and took out a book
                My mind was inspired
                My heart was rejoiced
                My spirit was unwavering
                My soul was alive
                        I was alive
                                As I still am

I sit on the bench
The iron is cool
The day is hot
A welcome respite.

I have a book in my bag
        I had been meaning to read it long ago
                As I still am

On this day, I walk home and pass a bench
        I sit on it, I take out a book,
                and I recall what I once was
                        My mind was lit up
                        My heart was awoken
                        My spirit was rekindled
                        My soul was not lost
                                It was not lost then when I was young
                                        As I still am.