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Sad Nostalgia Poems | Sad Poems About Nostalgia

These Sad Nostalgia poems are examples of Sad poems about Nostalgia. These are the best examples of Sad Nostalgia poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

You Caught The Wind

I remember you, from when there was a spring When the seasons were ripe, with verdant green Our nimble feet danced in the wind and on the brink of everything Not a furrow in the brow of youth We borrowed life for just awhile and tapped our shoes on childhood's stage where carefree laughter was the rage that filled each age with promised smiles We danced and twirled a twin ballet just you and me on summer's waves Two pirouettes, in mode of curls of blossoms, frilled, and tender leaves unfurled in winds, we found a way to soar our wings, above the world We knew not yet of death or dying or of regret, or cause for crying But, something frowned upon the season You caught the wind, and without reason A colder wind that kept you flying far beyond my eyes could see And to the other side you disappeared beyond my words beyond my tears Now here alone I touch the day and taste the night remembering I will walk alone, in autumn sun And lay myself on dying leaves I think of you and think of then I feel the wind against my face that sweeps me to a distant place where I recall what time erased I'm closer now... to hear the sound The whisper of the seasons calling Above the trees, the sky is blue I think of you, and feel the breeze And all the while, the leaves must fall
9/4/13 ....................................................................................................... Sponsor: Laura Loo Contest: BEST SAD POEM EVER II

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Shape | |

Spring Bud

                          shivers under  
                       a rug of loneliness,
                    a sleepy heart huddles
                   against such memories 
                 of togetherness and not of 
               goodbyes, hating to disperse 
               the fiery rhymes of your lips, 
                as well as the warmth of its 
                 sweat...tastes like red wine, 
                   then it beats...and beats
                     gently, as it envisions
                          you, in an early

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad | |

This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….

Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011

Details | Romanticism | |

A Rose In The Heather.

So still and beautiful lays the rose in the heather,
Lifeless and dying, given to bring you happiness,
So fragile is this rose laying in heather,
Slowly withering and drying, crumbling to a powder,
I look at you and see this rose ever fading,
Once growing, living, accenting its surroundings,
But now gone, plucked from the bush by one mans lust,
I could never compare you to this rose laying in the heather,
For your beauty surpasses its own,

So still and beautiful lays this rose in the heather,
Now dried cracking and dead, stored in a book to bring memories,
So weak and faded is this rose in yellowing heather,
Slowly falling apart as you touch the fragile petals,
I look at you and remember the flower when it faded,
That germinated and grew where I had sown its seed,
Now gone, plucked from the ground by one mans hope,
I would never compare you to this old heather and roses,
For its life was surpassed by yours,

Now I tell you I love you with cellophaned roses in heather,
Draining lifeless this dying confession of my dreaming,
This rose is more fragile then the first had I gave you,
But I could’t approach, my courage eroding at your sight,
I look at you now and see the love I sought inward,
Once alive and growing but only within lost confines of myself,
But never quite gone I hold this consuming fire close inside,
I could never combine your world with mine,
You always looked passed never noticing me,

Now I open my book that holds the first rose, wishing I gave it for the sake of 
Instead I hold a created memory that never came passing, 
That never could I fear,
I hold tight to the lie that through wonted silence I painted,     
But that chance for your love died with the first rose wrapped in heather.

Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2006

Details | Senryu | |

carved on a willow

carved on a willow
our love growing out of reach

Copyright © Rickie Elpusan | Year Posted 2005

Details | Imagism | |

Between Shades

“Alive,” she said,
 “and becoming such a beautifully-
painted picture.”

Where-in you walk wispy
(She said)
through the moon’s light
shinning on the branches
of leafless trees.

Then tomorrow shakes his tired head,
halfway into Autumn’s-
dead middle;
and you stand shaded and colored
(She said)
by the fiery skies.

While down among your feet
the wilted flowers 
wake like a carnival 
and encircle you
(She said)
with forgotten happiness.

And on you trod shyly
into forests of yes and no.
Where all happiness is lost,
and the flowers forget-
to grow.

“Alive,” she said.

Copyright © joshua ten eyck | Year Posted 2006

Details | Verse | |


On a path laid as a snake,
Trodden down a winding wake,
Curls and slithers into night,
To thrones of ever-dimming light;
I hold still and gripped with feeling
In a mist that wraps concealing,
And I glimpse her flicker by
From the corner of my eye.

Heartless granite fissures break
At prayers to God of souls to take,
In their vessels bled to white,
Shells of failure and of blight;
It snares and snags as ivy veins,
Upon the brickwork, grasps and strains,
And I catch her ribbons fly
From the corner of my eye.

Set adrift in this domain,
The dead volcanoes that refrain,
Never smoking nor erupt
For the end was sharp, abrupt;
I feel the ether of despair
Envelope skin with frosted air,
I spot the crystals melt and die
From the corner of my eye.

No space for sorrow to explain,
To tell how love was savaged, slain,
The stir of breath can bare disrupt
Or wall of silence interrupt;
A fear of days, in truth, compare
With nights that always hunger there,
Unguarded moments, her I spy
From the corner of my eye.

Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2007

Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Rtrn

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

buried secrets

where the seagull dies
stringless origami cries
loneliness of soul

koi fish suffocate
colors fade in Bonsai trees
island in distress

words not understood
shadows grin tricks on rice walls
tsunamis in eyes

geisha of the world
love is lost in illusions
freedom is her dream

men with cold fingers
whither blossom of her spring
harakiri end

in the seagull's grave
origami secrets kept
chicks learn how to fly

Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme | |

The Park -- Part Two

(Please read The Park -- Part One first ...
This is a continuation from Part One, due to space limitations)

Yes, kids at play are bold and wise
with flashing smiles and knowing eyes.
Children bore easily with grown up prattle;
their thoughts turn to cake and to toys that rattle.
They know that Belles and Bills tell lies.
Time is but a birthday gift or new surprise;
more games to play; a windy day for a kite one flies;
coins that shine; toys that squeak;
a trip to the zoo at the end of each week.
But Belles and Bills persist in their story.
Some even mention forgotten glory.
Children go home to eat, to sleep.
Belles and Bills their vigils keep;
falling leaves and darkening sky
shows them their truth and the children's lie.
Nothing is forever; all things die.
Then, Belles and Bills go back to flats,
to wait -- to wait till morning comes.
They listen to the rustling rats
and slowly sip their gins or rums.
Eyes are glazed; minds are dazed.
The atmosphere grows dim and hazed.
They will await, once more, the sun's first ray --
the birth, in the park, of another day.
Before they leave, they look all around,
surveying the world to which they're bound;
then, they shuffle away, with airs of sadness
at being, always, on the verge of madness.
The echo of an unheard bark
reverberates throughout the park.
Fallen leaves and darkened sky
confirm the truth.  Children lie.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

Alone in a Hospital Room - An Alzheimer's Song

Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand, 
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could – 
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet; 
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go 
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach, 
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing 
about our best years – our long ago days together? 

Sweetheart, please…
If there is any part of that teenage girl 
left within that beautiful head of yours…please; 
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember? 

My love, do you hear? 
They’re playing our favorite song…

*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative | |

Chinese Scrolls

Poems from old and yellowed
Chinese scrolls make me sad,
make me sad: stored in shiny,
lacquered boxes of perfumed teak,
they crumble when unrolled.
And the hands that must have written
Chinese thoughts upon the rolls:
little, leathern, patient hands,
painting poems -- stroke and stroke
and careful, delicate stroke --
stopping, meanwhile, to twirl
a waxed mustache --
for someone else, a foreigner,
who cannot understand, to read,
mull over, and be sad.
And this when Chinese thoughts
are gone, and tiny, trembling
Chinese hands are dust.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sonnet | |


Released and slowly drifting to the earth,
the leaf departs her tree in mournful grace;
though both will live to see another birth,
none same will be returning in her place.
We meet as always in the space between
the branch's bud and parting leaf stem's end;
a tearful eye, a tugging force unseen
does will the laws reverse, gravity bend.
Enhanced though was the nearly naked tree
by springtime's bloom, her fallen trembling love - 
released to serve another destiny - 
in turn, will be the better than above.

Leaf falls to rest, and in her fading sigh,
she breathes to tree her final sad goodbye.

Copyright © Tracy Decker | Year Posted 2007

Details | Light Poetry | |


This's the world of dreams  and 
Where I think ev'ry that reels,
After a thousands times,
would as same beliefs things 
besought me,
Is it a mere dream? 

Copyright © kelechi Emeaba | Year Posted 2010

Details | I do not know? | |

Anger Pain and Dramatic Stress

Anger, pain and dramatic stress 
The 3 things that I possess
Me, Reggie is okay at times
I sometimes choose to confide in my rhymes
I express my feelings through a pen
Just like some women get satisfaction through men.
This isn’t a poem because this is a thought
I have thoughts moving so fast, just too fast to be caught.
I hate being stressed
Just like I hate being possessed
I don’t mean to sound evil and mean
But I am different from the other people you have seen.
This is not a poem…this is a thought
I have thoughts moving so fast that they can’t be caught.
I have it good to some…others have it good to me
Some don’t realize how hard it is to be
A poet…it’s hard writin’ poetry with a lot of feeling
You feel forced to write something appealing
You break down cause cus’ you feel an obligation
To write good poetry that there breaks your concentration
I found a solution that my mind’s fighting
Maybe I should stop all the poetry and all the writing
These are fast ideas too fast to be caught
This isn’t a poem this is just a thought

Copyright © Reginald Sellers | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse | |

Emotional Turbulence

The voices grow louder, Intensifying with emotion, anger lining every aggressive word. My insides squeeze tighter as the vitriol poisons my mind, How does such hostility exist? As the sound of hatred deepens, The feelings strengthen their grip, like a vice, So tight, I can no longer breathe All the negative emotions I have ever felt, fill me, Threatening to overflow. So long have they been banished… Enough. No more! My mouth opens, An earsplitting scream of pain and suffering shatters the silence, Sobs of sorrow and grief wrack my body, Murderous shrieks of anger and hate, Wretched cries of self-pity and self-loathing, Poison the air. Now, free of these emotions. But the monster still exists Within the dark depths of my mind.

Copyright © Anastasia Papanicolaou | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet | |


No not the portrait when you were younger, my dear
Just a Polaroid snapshot at the beach that year
No earrings, no make-up, your hair was a mess
("So what? Got a problem? I couldn't care less!")
Brother-in-law behind you, muggin' like a fool
Our nephew beside him, tryin' to look cool
You had a little patch of sand on your chin
But oh, what a smile; what a wide, joyful grin!
Living that moment, on a rollicking high
Complete in the present, no when and no why

(Now you're tucked away safe in our own special place
So you'll always stay with me when I tremble and ache
Sometimes I unfold you when I miss you too much
Press you tight to my forehead and weep at your touch


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |


Her delicate silhouette still lingers in my eyes, 
closer than these arms can embrace; haunting me. 
I breathe her in within the lull of a zephyr, 
lilac and roses filling the air; forever staining my memory.
Life found her defenseless, silenced by a veil of darkness; 
faith clutched tight within her hand,
as esoteric dreams are shattered beneath the rages of a soulless hand.
Frail she emerged, soul hidden, draped in shades of gray.

Sweet serenity severed tragically; incarcerated reality. 
Her taunting whispers bleed my heart,
no peace for the buried thoughts inside;
for innocence was laid to rest before dying, 
earthbound, intimately weaving in and out through me.
No more saline tears to sate these eyes,
just an expressionless specter in human disguise.
She wore candy apple red the day she left; bright eyes that smiled.

Copyright © T.Nicole Williams | Year Posted 2006

Details | Rhyme | |


Plagued with an unimaginable measure of beauty
She sits somewhere between the Indian and the Atlantic
Her history boasts of nothing but debauched slavery
Having served leaders who were very autocratic
She boasts of a vast expanse of unexploited vegetation
An even greater magnitude of untapped mineral resources
Yet her people reside in abject deprivation
As they look beyond their motherland to external sources
Famine, drought and diseases are her nemesis
Her leaders never seem to be sensitive to her plight
Amassing wealth for themselves and families
Ignoring the very reason for their current might
Oh Africa my motherland
Bursting with glory and heavenly blessings
May the good Lord stretch forth His hand
To bless thee with leaders worthy of your consecrations

Copyright © Felix Abbey-Mensah | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

Old me

Old me, is that you?
Well I'll be damned.
If I could, you know I'd shake your hand.
Sit with you? No thanks, I'd rather stand,
Old me.

Cigarette? No thanks, I quit
seven long years since filter tip
lay there quivering on my lip
can't say that I'm missing it,
Old me.

Still nursing that cold can of beer?
I sank a few of them when I sat here
watched a world go by that held no sense of fear
and laughter was the only source of tears
Old me.

You're looking lean, wiry and fairly fit,
hair just starting to thin a little bit.
Yeah, I know my waist from where you sit
is more Frank Cannon than Brad Pitt
Old me.

Say, who right now's your latest fling?
Oh, her? Nice girl. Yes, I've got a ring.
Hindsight's such a wonderful thing,
no, not what I was imagining,
Old me.

Those plans you made, soon to begin?
Life's challenges you'd take on and always win?
See, by your bench, that litter bin?
Well, screw them up and chuck the whole lot in,
Old me.

Off you go and happily skate along
until the ice of youth melts and is gone
for I'll tell you now, where I've come from
you don't know what you're taking on,
Old me.

Though my future lies in wait for only you,
and all that I know you will surely do,
sometimes with all that I've been through
I desperately wish that I was you.
Hold me.

Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE RAIN by Anna Lo P

"As I watch the blue skies
 Suddenly turned into gray
 Darkness easily surrounds 
 Their clouds, covered in haze.

 The rain will fall again, I say
 A nature's moment I dismay
 Raindrops will soon touch the ground
 The sad feeling, again I'll be hound.

 Splattering rain, the sound that haunts
 Sweet and sad memories of the man
 Taunting me to remember once again
 The love once lost, never be back again

 Every drop of rain that falls, I pain
 Each drop it falls, my heart is in vain
 "Try to listen" to the rain, he once said
 'Tis like a last goodbye, could not hear I said. 

 The sound of the crying heart, I still hear
 The sound of a weeping soul, I can hear
 The silent tears that they weep,
 The silent scream that echos so deep.

 Listen to every drop of rain
 To it's agony, vain, pain, 
 Listen to the rain as it falls, maybe
 There is your love, every drop after all...xoxo

Copyright © Anna Lo | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Train, Alone

I wail lonely
in your distances
as endless trestles travel I


I was here I was
on your horizons,
present in your town

Come, ride with me
Come, keep me 
from obsolescence, keep me

Without you
Within me
I am meaningless,

For how can I see, and, yes,
Who can I show,

If  not you... if not you... if not you 

Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse | |


Looking out a rainy window,
Seeing places that seem strange,
Makes you think of old and new, 
Shattered dreams, a glimpse of change,
All away and all distorted,
In the once so hopeful heart,
All beneath what you have planned,
If a plan is what you've got.
Many try to comprehend,
Why trouble just comes their way;
Sadly they find in the end
That they couldn't have a say
And they're wrong for thinking so
But when sadness flies to you,
There isn't much you can do... 

Is there?

Maybe lie to you and others,
That we are a happy kind,
Just that sometimes we are clouded
By the way our lives entwine.

Copyright © Luminita Stoica | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse | |

In the Weeping Willow's path

I will never return,
Not even when the willows grow.
Not even when a distant bird
Sings my soul’s departure.
I’ll be alongside the river,
Tracing the few years of my love.
I gave my soul to this ancient stream,
Where the willows plot in silence.
They want to take my core
And carry it over
The fields, the skies, 
Across my mind.
And I shall let my darling tree
Snatch my heart and take it far,
For no one else to 
Grab it all over again.

I’ll endure the Willow’s magic
And contain my spirit
Within her bark, within her leaves,
Releasing my poison into the water.
She’ll guide my spirit
Into the Summerland,
Where I’ll rest by the
White Willow’s side.
Then I’ll be the child of nature,
Daughter of the Weeping ones,
Resting my branches 
By the river, on a rainy evening.

And I shall weep
Every time you will,
And wipe your tears 
With my leafy fingers.
I’ll be your undying guardian
And your oldest friend,
Enchanting you in the land of dreams.
I’ll be the willow on your bedside. 

© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila

Copyright © Stefania Carmen Misaila | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Why do I bother ?

                             Why do I bother waking up
                            when everydays the same 
                              life has no purpose
                             while we are estranged
                            Why do I bother going to sleep 
                            when all I have is nightmares
                             Why do I bother breathing 
                        when  I just end up gasping for air
                              Why do I bother eating
                               when all I want is you
                               Why do I bother bathing
                             When everything feels so dirty
                         Why do I bother talking
                       when I just feel like screaming

                              Why do I bother living 
                             When i feel like im dying

                                By,Jessica Bowie

Copyright © Jessica Bowie | Year Posted 2010

Details | Bio | |

I Close My Eyes

I close my eyes
And back home I am
Looking out those
Century old windows
My inner tears
Would burst a dam

I remember every crack 
In those walls,
Every floor board
Prone to creak
But the happiness
I had there,
Is something I can
now but seek...

Home of fifty years
Saw my tears and my joy
From infancy to adulthood
And the blessed life I'd had there
Since I was but a boy

A place where several
Family members had died
In the old fashioned way
And all those tears I cried...

Not in some remote hospital,
But where they wanted to be
And I'd suely love to die there,
If it was up to me..

But, it was my destiny
To come here, 
In this desolate place
Certainly I'm not that happy
But it's something I must face

I made a mistake,
I should have died there
Where I had lived so happily
And now, I barely care,
What becomes of me
My life is over
Save but a bit of love,
Still directed at me
And each day I wonder,
What do these people see in me?

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

Details | Blank verse | |

Love Song

Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.

Copyright © Nick Hertzog | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

fake smiles and lies

I have tried,
For months I have tried,
to let  go of your haunting memory.
I can’t.
Behind every fake smile I give,
I blindly hope I give an aura,
of being happy.
I am not.
I fall asleep at night,
only to find you haunting my dreams.
The life I wanted to have,
the love I needed,
it’s all slipping so far away.
I heard about you and her.
I was engulfed with sadness.
I was supposed to be me,
not her.
There is no one to blame,
no one to accept this burden.
I bury  it deep inside,
hidden  behind,
fake smiles,
and  lies.

Copyright © rebecca travis | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

Did you not Notice?

Did you not notice I was slippin,
                       cause you didnt catch my fall.
                        Did you not notice I had fallin 
                             cause you didnt help me up...
                                 so I stayed there for awhile.
                                 Did you not notice I was drowning,
                                   cause you didnt offer me your hand....
                                 so I sank to the bottom.
                               Did you not notice  I was dying,
                             cause you didnt try to revive me.
                            Did you not notice I was Dead,
                         Cause you werent at my Funeral.
                       Did you not notice I was in Hell,
                    When i would haunt you with my soul caught on fire...
                                   and you didnt put out the flames.
                           ... And im just Wondering how did you not notice?

                        By.Jessica Bowie

Copyright © Jessica Bowie | Year Posted 2010

Details | Blank verse | |

Sword of Roses

What, then, is Love but a sword of roses
Which cleaves poor waiting hearts
And thusly drunk with the blood of saints
Exults in its own dissipation?

And mine, a soul it so jagged gashed,
A scarred and wilted husk
Which once had songs to Heaven sung
Yet now but gasps with the fetid breath of dying things...

Oh soft Night's tapestry:meadows, fields, 
The courtyards of the Moon!
Now but brittle corpses endraped in silken mask,
Their board and banquet but sullen Death
Mocking of Light, fair Hope, and fond Embrace...

Copyright © Michael Grugan | Year Posted 2007