I strolled the lanes, streets
and byways of my childhood home, and
like echoes of my past,
I heard the sound of children’s laughter,
yet it was empty, long gone in spirit,
and those houses and shops I knew so well,
and my recognition lay wanting.
It stirred me so, this feeling of past, of loss,
a gnawing at my gut that all was gone,
and like butterflies caressing air in flight,
my memories sang a distant song,
and I realised what I had was no longer,
lost in memories
I had to fish from my darkness.
Like a flood of joy and tears memories wafted
in and out of cognizance,
and the joy of youth quickly turned to age
the parents I had lost, their pain, their struggle,
and me now turning into the light of decay;
as I stood before the house that no longer was,
I saw life in movement, just as it should.
What we leave behind, the soul holds,
and what we endured the soul knows,
so we walk paths, familiar and unfamiliar,
knowing that when all is done,
when life transforms to other realms,
we keep only the worth of what we experienced,
and that is the measure of who we are.
Tony DeLorger © 2016