Longing Poem by Barry Middleton

I long for a lost and ghostly past,
for love and a murmuring forest
where beeches, phantom white,
were landmarks on the way home.

I long for a familiar place of rest,
a soft faithful hand and comfort,
a warm white woodland cottage
with heirloom lilies still in bloom.

The dream that passed my way
is interrupted now like a movie,
the old and brittle film broken
and faded to a dark emptiness.

And this is a most familiar story,
all the bold, naive plans of youth
vanished in time's sullen grove,
still longing, hoping without hope.