Realizing, Yearning For Lost Youth Had Birthed Poetic Aches

Realizing, Yearning For Lost Youth Had Birthed Poetic Aches Just past forest green, field of cold and hard stones there in his youth he oft sat, rejected, sad and alone; blissful in solitude and mindful of dark world's hurt poet in deep thought, how best to write and atone. Creating realms to shatter earth's hardest day well beyond this world's mass of whirling decay; in ragged jeans and older brother's torn shirt searching, searching for life and a better way. With pen in left hand and an armada of words scribbling out verses, only to please singing birds; with heart's pure joy in each word gushing spurt he deeply scrutinized all his well crafted words. Years flew by, sanctuary was lost to worldly greed slowly, ever so slowly he gave way to selfish needs; his desires, he in prideful arrogance sought to convert thus raising his own sorrows from lust's thorny seeds. Racing back, searching for that field lonely dreams a child again, escaping world's darkest schemes; found he, truth and joy replaced by life's great hurt flowing forth in never ending black raging streams. Then one fine dawn, he remembered that sad, sad place cold stones that spoke, spoke to him face to face; regain thy true soul, plant seeds in fresh, fertile dirt for thy youthful years, no poetic words can replace. With far greater knowledge, his grief he forsakes realizing, yearning for youth had birthed poetic aches; he sat there in new bought jeans and bright shirt writing new poetic verses, during sweet coffee breaks. August 2nd, 2017 -------------- For the 'The Poet's Ache' contest - Greg Barden