I met myself on a winding path
With the beach ten yards away,
Walking slowly towards me then
By the pounding breakers spray,
The path was narrow, I stepped aside
As I felt a twinge of fear,
We both were startled, I heard us say,
‘What are you doing here? ’
I looked at me as I must have been
At the age of thirty-one,
And I was visibly shaken, seeing
Just how the years had gone,
‘I’m not quite how I envisaged me,
Were the years ahead so hard? ’
I felt a chill and replied to me,
‘I was hoist on my own petard.’
‘What has become of our hopes and dreams,
The ones that we must have shared? ’
‘I let them slip through my fingers, once
I noticed that no-one cared.’
‘I always said that I’d have to fight
For the things that I held dear, ’
‘But the years have changed, and rearranged
For none of those things are here.’
With one last look at each other, we
Then parted and turned away,
I to a desperate future,
And me to my dying day,
The I then turned that was thirty-one
‘Can you tell what happened to She? ’
I couldn’t remember the one I meant,
‘She’s certainly not with me! ’
1 March 2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is very nicely done.