Nostalgia

Free verse

I think I’m tired of the grief,

Of aged dilations and long-suffering.

I have not waited in vain, feeling

Inundations of futile regret.

The pain is one I’ve compromised, but

It is not something soon forgotten.

Perhaps, an ill-advised gain, or a wishful mirage

Of beauty, outsourcing nostalgia.

In these whispers of retreat

I remember the promises I made to myself —

I am all that I have and nothing else.

For there is nothing left. Plain paper

And plainer clothes, fit for a princess

But works well for a pauper. Every penny is

Henceforth, shown in the undertaking. And

Laid out in obvious sight, a dubious forage

Into the sea that I can’t see that knows me.