An Elegy to a Feeling

Often I smell that fleeting whiff
Of her fragrance, the shadow
Of a memory, of days gone by
Of wild thoughts and rampant youth
Those days of heady excitement
When I too believed in that
In the impossibility of youth

But it is a shadow.

Suddenly that day I was beckoned
By an old memory, an old friend
Perhaps a jab from my past,
And I was shoved back
To those old days, those times gone by
And I was faced with a picture
Of a ghost from my past

But it was a ghost.

I stared at that image,
I stared at that face,
I stared at those eyes,
The image stared back.
But there was no memory
Not even a small ripple
On the placid pool of my past

Not even a small ripple

It is gone now.The past is dead
Folded and disintegrated
I was sad for a moment

Only for a moment.