Memories Are Like A Sword

A poem about what those melancholic little minds long for.

Memories are like a sword
swiftly held in the hands
of my dreams.
They whisper to me,
yet press me onward
into the hazed, cold world
of the future.

I sit and wait and look
beyond the hills,
and wait for them to return to me.
But the sword is sharp,
and my hope, it kills,
until the days when the past
is forever gone.

How I long for those memories,
those happy times,
when I could close my eyes
and I could know
that all was fine,
that everything rhymed
like a poem printed
in the center of my heart,
like the strength of a friendship
that lives in power.