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I have a fear,
it's not that I'm afraid of the future,
I'm afraid of a realization,
one I had last week.

What if...
What if it's downhill from here?

My childhood was amazing,
my parents were excellent,
but the real issue was my friends.
The fun we had was real,
it's just not the same,
academic discussion,
scientific deduction,
dissection of stories and ideals,
what's it all mean?
My favorite memories are not of discussion,
but action,
actions I keep written on a piece of paper,
strapped tightly to my chest,
a eulogy of youth,
time spent as kids.
Through the haze of years I see,
low rate movies,
bonfires burning just a little too bright,
Wendy's runs in the dead of night,
skinny dipping out on the lake,
firecrackers bursting over head,
roman candles,
no small talk,
real talk,
girls,
near death experience,
you were there right?!
Mario Kart,
video games,
disgusting food combination,
skating behind the moped,
sledding behind the SUV,
basketball on black tar,
mustard spilled all over the car,
splints and broken wrists,
word games,
collective humor,
stupid and indecipherable,
socks with sandals,
up all night talking in the basement,
not a care in the world,
no ambition,
dumb little kids,
messing around doing dumb things,
throwing common convention in the fire-pit,
flickering flames,
nostalgia on release,
gone our separate ways.

I had realization last week,
those guys weren't my friends,
they were my brothers.
A.P. Beckstead (2013)
Skaidrum  Sep 2015
Nostaliga...
Skaidrum Sep 2015
--
is a ***** liar
  that insists things were
  better than they
  seemed.
--
Why does it still hurt?


© Copywrite Skaidrum
Kyra Adams Oct 2014
My room

                                              is a work of art

on the unvacuumed           canvas

lies heaps

of U.C.S's

(unidentified clusters of                ****)

heaps                                   ­           that are only destroyed

during nights             ...                                 ...                                     .. .    .  .

that are fueled with       anxiety

or

just pu re
                    r
                   
                                      estles snes s  .

These imperfect     shapes

scattered

in comforting patterns

my          compiled life

in pieces   .

But I'm st ill restless.

The artist

is

never truly satisfied with

her

work

the mes s of          my                     life

tossed comfor tably to the ground

until i am provoked by                       ...                              ...               .. .

...

Each Article

I nd i v i dually held

Set    in   place

Stumb

                                               ling upon

Lost object  s       ... .             .

forgotten   fabrics that

held you unquestionably.

a nostaliga

art

revealing things

you were probably already looking for .
Bansi Adroja  Aug 2018
Life
Bansi Adroja Aug 2018
Life is hours spent in traffic jams
changing radio stations
waiting for the sound of nostaliga
that song
that year
the one that reminds you of summer
of rain on clear nights
a sky full of stars
or the way that kiss caught you off guard
A Poem a Day : Two

— The End —