Maudlin Soul

Maudlin Retrospective

We once were young,
Carefree, careless,
And laughing still about silly things.
We spent long hours doing nothing,
Yet those hours were the best,
And absolutely everything
Didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered,
Except for our silent conversation
Spoken through eyes and fingertips,
And the still air
Communicated everything.
We went through forests
In imaginary worlds that
We made up of words and thoughts.
The trees were draped with moss,
And we climbed high into the branches.
We watched from the treetops
As the rainclouds rolled in,
Thundering like a herd of stallions,
Thundering like a lion’s roar,
Thundering like a brilliant passion.
The clouds broke,
Like a crystal chandelier
Falling from a hotel ceiling
And smashing
On a shining marble floor.
The rain pattered,
Down across the forest,
And the sight fades,
Like a watercolor painting,
Washing into a grey pool
Of still, small, quietude.
We found ourselves on a sidewalk,
The pavement dirty
And uneven
And firm beneath our feet.
We ran through the streets,
Wild and laughing
Like the tall children
That we were.
Everyone looked at us as though
We were insane,
Which, of course, we were.
We ran about,
Slipping through alleys like street rats,
Jumping low walls
And tall fences
Like kangaroos
Or jack rabbits.
We ran through the streets
Until we came to the square,
To the center,
To the heart
Of the city.
There was a fountain,
A glorious cascade of sparkling water,
The sun reflecting
Off of the faceted and
Ever-moving surfaces of the chinked
Droplets that flew.
We looked at each other then,
Laughing with our bright eyes,
And we dashed into the
Glorious, glorious fountain.
Again, the world faded
Into grey, into water,
Into a watercolor painting,
Pale and light-washed
And just out of focus.
We found ourselves rulers
Of our world so vast and dreamlike
And built of words and thoughts and ideas.
We laid out flat on our stomachs
On the edge of a cliff,
Looking down across the valley,
And we built tiny cities,
Stretching our arms out
And placing the pieces
That built a world.
We were the only ones alive,
Or so we thought,
For we never cared
About those who thought us strange.
We climbed,
And dashed,
And built,
And dreamed.
We were young,
And free,
And beautiful,
And brimming with passion
For anything, for everything,
For life, for love,
For our worlds and ideas.
We once were crazy,
We once were so wild,
We once were everything.
And now we simply remember.

Two Feet Standing

Two feet standing on a wooden floor,
Beneath screaming lips that cry at your betrayal.
Two feet walk away, alone and without you,
Running out into the world upon the nails.

Two feet standing on the open road,
Freedom to go wherever whim may lead.
Two feet walk away, afraid of what may come,
Tiptoeing out so careful and so faltering.

Two feet standing on a mountaintop,
Taking in the wonder of the world.
Two feet walk away, leave behind the view,
As the murky smoke begins to curl.

Two feet standing on a busy street,
Beneath searching eyes and searching heart so small.
Two feet walk away, with empty hands above,
And the searching eyes and heart begin to fall.

Two feet standing in an empty world,
And maudlin soul is finally wearing thin.
Two feet walk away, leaving earth behind,
Allowing a new soul to just begin.

Two feet standing on the rain-washed shore,
Beneath uncertain soul and wistful eyes.
Two feet walk away, alone yet freer now,
As from the face now melts the sorrowed guise.

Breathed This Air

Alone I wander
Quiet city roads,
The dust I kick
Filling my lungs.
I breathe in the air,
And imagine all the others
Who have breathed
This same air before.
Perhaps the children
Who tumbled in the street
On their bicycles
And tripped on jump-ropes.
Perhaps the raccoons,
Mischievous night bandits,
Who rummaged in the trash,
Feasting on garbage,
Their silver masks
Bright in the moonlight.
Perhaps the boys
Who walked these streets
And breathed this air
As they hurried
To the university,
Where they became great,
The doctors, lawyers, leaders.
Perhaps the girls
Who worked in the flower shops,
The bookshops and cafes,
Who charmed the graceless
Schoolboys into young men.
Perhaps the families,
The former schoolboy,
His wife the flower girl,
And their children
Who tumbled on their bicycles
And tripped over their jump-ropes,
Have all wandered this street,
Have seen these sights,
Have breathed this air.
I breathe the air,
I think these thoughts,
Inventing lives and stories,
Composing already in my head
The novel about all those
Who before me walked these streets
And breathed this dusty air.

The Windows

The windows in the hall were tall
And grand as grand could be.
Gold, ornate, six foot eight,
With a view of the great city.

The windows glow into the road
Where stroll the most elite.
Tall and trim, she and him,
As they walk the richest street.

The windows tall in great gold hall,
Around which were small rose clusters,
Were quite fine, but in my mind,
Were somehow still lackluster.

The windows fine I leave behind
And walk the vast and light-lit city.
And sometime soon beneath the moon
I find the crashing star-lit sea.

The windows of the sky so high
Glint upon the darkest waves.
I find here, in seaside drear,
The windows that I so crave.

The windows of the hall were small
And fit well with the driftwood roof.
The glass is smooth and shows the moon
And yet the panes remain aloof.

The windows stand stark against the dark
And the moon shines in the hallway.
The inside light glows into the night
As the sea comes here, then goes away.

The windows shine in drear seaside
And lights on heads of two small girls.
Their hair glows beneath glass windows
And the sea is awash in swirls.

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Maudlin Soul

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