Shelf Of Yore

By Sarah Mehdi

Heather Heather, I think this life is flawed,

For all the drinks I cheered to and all the dreams I danced with, came with an end knot.

Heather Heather, I think it's so restricting to be a fellow breather.

For I am yet to witness the wonders of a freed bird,

I am still hinging on souvenirs of my cheery bloomy former days.

It's like a dulcet recollection of mine impersonated as a drink,

In a fuchsia tinted brass chalice, I sculpted, that I yearn for to be filled again.

Oh Heather, tell me how to replenish the bounty of this filled cup I would rather drink it again.

The golden sun whose warmth I used to cherish,

doesn't seem as golden as it was then.

My heart withers as it sees this moment pass too,

Heather Heather, this twinkling darkness of late dusk has stuck with me like another winter flu.

The gentleness of this dawn breeze is swaying my hair like it's waving farewell to my youth.

By Sarah Mehdi