Memories of Yesterday

I see a dove, and in it’s eye, the reddish
Glint of a dying sun, signalling the end
Of the day’s giving and the spark of
Night’s taking. Man’s worst fears take
Definite shape, haunt him and test his hope,
Hope for light, a tomorrow, one different from the
Moderacy of today, a tomorrow that is
Far ahead from his primitive
Fears of a modern thought in a life
In renaissance. The joy of days long
Before the illusions of modernity,
Times when simplicity was beauty itself,
Bring emotions rushing at one
Reminiscing his days.

A helping hand,
A rarity in the age of shadows,
Seemed soft as ruby in velvet, a smile
That melted the hardest of men to
Humility and compassion. Fair faces and
Cheery voices dot my memory of yesterday;
Will there be another?

Past all convention, past all that’s dear
To the dreamer, I see something familiar,
Yet so different from experience. There will
Be another, one that’s no different from
The past. It will repeat, all over again,
And when it does, my words

Shall be sole testament.