Primal Wounds

A cold breeze blows, shakes me into a soothing shiver,
A scene lost from memory, like a creek from a river.
The breeze brings a breath of, bygone era, bygone dreams,
A scene of spring, and of summer, mesmerizing silent screams.

The chill of the wind cuddles my skin with anamnesis,
The tranquil shrill of nostalgia calls me to my genesis.
I pine for a belonging, seeking the safety of anonymity,
An eternity spent in search, I long for an equanimity.

Fallen Grace, forgotten glories of the abandoned past,
Beaten, broken, used, abused, by life’s plot and the cast,
Faces and voices of, people, I could not make mine,
Places unseen, promises unkept, and my decline.

A melancholic song sings, remembrance of pious past,
Season of summer, of love and life that did not last.
Warm days of summer, spent ashore, at serene pace,
I reminisce dreams of yore, people, promises, and the place.

Wailing wounds, primal pains, have forgone healing,
Whence did I begin, whither my path, I’m unfeeling.
Time stands still since eons, appetent for unbeknown.
Waiting forever for forgotten, fearful freedom forlorn.