Treasure Island

Uriah Hamilton

(1) The People I Used to Be

When the autumn breeze
blows me into a leaf-strewn corner
of a dying city, I remember
a tossed away flower petal of yesterday
and my spirits sink like a child's small feet
into quicksand.

The scars of love
and tears that permanently stain a face
like a rain-washed house
unpainted for years,
that's the way reoccurring memories
make me feel.

Are there capricious powers outside of self
that keep us stranded on islands
of melancholy nostalgia?
Is there anyway to become free
from the chains of accumulated days
that create our current existence?

While I remain breathing on earth
and under the caress of sunlight,
I merely want to escape myself
and the people I used to be.

Submitted: Wednesday, November 06, 2013

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