Last Summers

There's always that one that comes before the fall of the house of your best, most memorable days.

We get them more than any other time in our lives, but we rarely know how important they'll feel somewhere in the future.

Going through the motions of existence, our lives come together the way they were meant to, in less than squeaky ways.

Nothing about them ever went the way we planned, despite us always being confident, so dammed sure.

We don't begin to understand their importance until they're done, and even then, it's later, in the recesses of the mind.

We feel them fading away from our grasp, escaping the length of our greatest reach, despite how we try.

So special that they shine like gold and jewels, flickering brightly in the moon's splendid yellow light, a special find, a one-of-a-kind.

And when that special summer winds to its inevitable, cold, sad-eyed ending, we let it go with a whimper and a sigh.

There are many summers open to those with the wisdom to see they are so fleeting.

Treat them like never, and you can miss out on such brilliantly beautiful treasures.

A simple look and an innocent glance leading to a chance meeting.

In the heat of the moment, the rhythmic sounds, the beats of the drums, the scents of summer's pleasures.

Those long warm nights in summer's warm embrace.

Feeling life's most valuable joys.

It's only until some lose them that they appreciate that incredible place.

Ending up looking back in the end, realizing it was all lost in translation as men grow from boys.

Summer's end comes more than once a year.

Do you not see the folly of your ways soon enough?

Before those fond and faded memories become something like a sad, lonely tear?

Learning the truth would end things so abruptly, an end that tore you up, an end so rough.

Summers, they do end, again and again

Those last days, those last summers