On Looking Back

Would I turn back the clock with it’s
tick tock tease and the dull weight
of squandered days and opportunity?
Was the fascination of our youth
truly lost in wasted tears and
bewilderment of our desires?
And were those later, stolen nights
mere impostors playing with our hearts
and to our ragged, fading dreams?

Now, your warm voice has grown familiar
while our conversation drifts, and you
talk of weary limbs and journey’s end.
But I recall a sweet conspiracy
that once was based on passion.
Have we abandoned all love’s pleasures
or have they capriciously abandoned us?