Play me the songs
From when the singer and I were young.
From the days of hope,
When we believed in Life;
Felt sure she would correct all wrongs.
Now his songs are more polished.
Rough edges of exuberance
Smoothed away.
The fervor to fix tomorrow has gone.
And I am left with reality's malaise.
Our tired eyes
Have seen bad mutate;
Slip through our optimistic fingers
To darken shadows and dreams.
Play me his old songs.
Let their enthusiasm
Once again ignite my soul.
Let my heart pound once again
To the rapturous naivety
Of when we were young.
READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD