By Joseph Armstead
Breathe in, breathe out…
You can smell it in the air,
That scent of rain and regret,
The perfume of bittersweet
Memory
And old dreams vaguely
Recollected.
It imbues a strange feeling
In the soul, a stirring
Of melancholy for
Things that can never be,
And it creates its own
Moonlight, transforming
The harsh metallic silver
from the gloomy evening
sky to the color of
gun-metal when you stare
down the barrel.
It’s there, that feeling,
That smell, that sound,
That music without
Melody.
It stays with you long past its time.
