The time we had

I was left recently by a girl I loved. I am mostly over her, but from time to time, I still think back. Her name came to mind yesterday evening, and in a fit of inspiration, I wrote some godawful poem

Life is not a turgid pond- that swirls with sluggish serenity, steeped in stagnation without strife

Where days on days are draped in the dew of the remembered past and the forgotten future.

The world is not a window into the why not, the where to go, or worse; the why am I without?

For in each new rise, the rarity of renewal is redeemed in a refreshing resplendent rapture.

That is to say, today is never trivial, nor tomorrow convivial unless you traipse with tenacity.

For with the dawn I say to you, explore, endure! Do not deplore your duty to frolic with impunity.

Deny the naysayers who dare to deride or divide your ride on this ever enticing endeavour that is life.

 

What little time we have in this pinprick of conscious cognition cannot be conceived or caged,

Moment upon moment, momentous movement must maintain to explore each new mystery!

To love and to lose is to learn and to be lucky, for love is a gift ne’ever to be spurned.

Those times that we shared, never unpaired, spry in spirit, sporadic in splendour- in love.

The walks and the talks, the days and the nights, to be drunk on the dream of delight.

I once yearned to forget, to unlearn the love that you then decided to spurn. And yet, and yet!

What a time we had, in hectic havoc and happiness, a tumultuous tornado of tranquillity!

For us, the world was won, the weeks of whirling in a whirlwind of winsome wonder,

A kiss in the moonlight, a dance under stars, a drive to a drivethrough, and wine on the wayside.

 

Alas Life is not a turgid pond. It is a river of change and of churning shadows and mist,

What once was, might not be- might change in a moment- of teary sadness and solemn tragedy

But all is not lost, for if memory serves, and yet it does still, for love may not last, but it is not lost!

For in our heart of hearts, our own internal pump that pushes through our personal river of woes,

There is hope, there is friendship, and there is remembrance. The bond may be gone, but wait!

The time that we had, oh how perfect it was, and that’s something to celebrate- not to separate!

How can we seek to devour all that shines, all that makes us smile in that night,

such a beauty, such a fortuitous phantom of fantasy once frolicked.

For ne’er forget memories my dear. They are ours, these hours, of our heyday and happy days.

I am glad for the time that we had, now let’s follow the river and see what arrives with the dawn.

Reviews

[The Verse: A Poetry Jou..]

Clearly you are a prose writer, but I see your attempt here, cool.