CONVERSATION WITH AN OLD FRIEND

It was like going back,

Way back, in time.

Then suddenly there was no time at all,

Except for blurs

That position themselves as the past.

And we talked of children

And their children standing tall.

I kept hearing the melody

Of secure serenity

In your voice,

Something like an echo of hard work,

Or meticulous choice,

And, I am sure, much, much more.

But most rewarding of all,

There were tributes

In our common memories -

Hymns to people
And places

And welcome recollections

Of a world where, so happily,

No one expected perfection.

Where did it all go?

Handwritten notes,

Diagrams like stick pictures,

And faded jeans

With picked stitches

Where someone

Had lowered the hem

To make them last
For one more year.

Were we always growing so fast

In those months of only knowing,

Those days of future with no past?

When did we hit the wall,

Stumble, and fall

Into the traps

Made of normality's mishaps?

Would we change it

And rearrange it?

Whom would we sacrifice,

And whom would we rob,

In order to pay the price?

No.

And,

No one.