A Golden Afternoon Poem by Brian Sonberg

A golden afternoon
The kind one only reads about
The sort of gold on silver screens
Too early; sky blue
Too late; blood red
Perfect in this moment
How long shall this innocence last
The sun holds her secrets
She laughs from her high perch
Knowing the truth we seek
We almost taste it
On those afternoons so faultless
Like youth squandered
Left unappreciated to die alone
Then missed dearly
The ticking clock drives you mad
Wishing the hands would reverse
Or at least stand still
For even a day
For this day
And its golden afternoon