My subconcious stares back at my past like a painting in the sixteenth chapel
Like something was left behind and its telling me to go back and get it
Though both my subconcious and my concious existence know i cannot
I spend too much time looking back
Seems the past was always greener
Even as the now slowly slips into the past i look at it as a better time in my life that is lost
The people, the women, the nights all seem to have a nostalgic aroma that haunts my dreams
She had beautiful lips sweet to kiss
And to even kiss them in a dream relights an old flame that no matter how i try to put it out it seems to smolder and flare up every now and then
Suppose i need to spend less time looking back before the now is gone.... again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem