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Heady days of young
maturity and the
excitement of discovery.
Feelings and emotions
stirred me at every turn.
Hormones coursed
without constraint,
love, lust co-mingled
indistinguishable.
Not yet consumed
with full adult worries,
no self-created
inhibitions kept me
from adventures.
When did it change?
At what exact time
did those days
become these?
Days of youth
became days of old.
Gone, but for a memory,
but what use is that?
No longer now,
it lives in the past.
And when I muse on
that exhilarating time,
I sometimes miss
what was once mine.
Stuart McPherson invites us to write on what we are missing: http://dversepoets.com/2012/12/01/poetics-missing-you/#comment-25349
