The sound is deafening,

to know the fear, to feel we knew,

that way back there,

on that trail we have all found,

were loose pebbles strewn.

If now tonight I might

recall the internal crisis,

that on a given day,

swept our minds away,

when then could we

have known today, years

past that disquieted afternoon,

we’d respond the same.

~

If when the sun peeks the horizon

I might see you again once more,

say the words I loved to know,

see the eyes I’d hoped to share

might I again be unsure,

of how I could know your name

the one you always keep alone,

the where of life we’d wish to know.

~

Yet, in the crisp spring morning,

will wonder the outcome

another passing of momentum,

perhaps additional memento

of a simpler time

when complex ideals

and the innocence of zeal

could withstand the heat,

give warmth to the chill

of unknown insidious fever,

that pitch of reality,

when needed or unasked for,

suddenly overwhelms the horizon,

sweet mystique in hidden wall.