[Insert Title Here]

I love to write.  I used to write poetry all the time.  I have about 10 notebooks full of poetry upstairs somewhere.  Sometimes I love to sit and read my past.  Sometimes I’m too afraid to open the cover.  Some of those poems bring back memories so strong I can taste it.  Not just memories of what was happening, but memories of what I was feeling.  That’s the difference between a journal entry and a poem – every poem I’ve written is a piece of my heart.

I haven’t written much poetry in the last 10 or so years.  It saddens me, because I love to write.  I guess the good thing about growing up and “settling down” is that there aren’t so many earth-shattering events and emotions to inspire me.  The emotions I have now are so much less violent, but also so much deeper.  I want to write poetry again, but I’m not even sure where to start.

About a year ago, however, I had a brief flash of “Write it down, write it down NOW!” that any poet could tell you they would understand.  But I always get stuck on titles.  So, if you have a suggestion on a title, leave it below.  I may or may not use it.  =)

Nostalgia is a dangerous game:
The seed of comparison that breeds discontent
Clinging to the heat of a dying flame,
a broken heart wonders where the pieces went

When what was is no longer, hope finds itself
dreaming instead of what could have been
Seeing the road to a deep, empty well
as a path untaken and Heaven-sent

Yet clear, true memory of a former time
is the anchor to hold to when doubting the now
The past should be hope, should be strength, should be life
Not an alter of memory on which to bow

Past futures are over, old seasons are gone
The moments once dreamed of are passing too fast
But what seems to have perished does, in us, live on
The future is shaped by the days we’ve amassed

And when tears and regrets, both of truth and of wish
threaten to bruise and to bloody the soul
One truth everlasting, despite all that’s missed
Says the future is promise, waiting and whole

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