Sweet Notes From A Page
The Sounds Play In My Years
I think of you from time to time,
with great fondness and a smile.
There was a time I would have walked with you,
way beyond that walk-a-thon mile.
But now, after many years,
our lives have taken different paths.
And we’ve lived such blessed days,
when we each look upon our pasts.
So, it’s not about regrets or pains,
or decisions I would go back and change.
For whom we once were, are right now,
yesterday'd upon our stage.
I hear the timber of your young voice,
still a flautist’s song within my ears.
A lasting melody I’ll ne'er forget
through our January years.
It's so nice to think and ponder,
and reminisce for just a while.
So, know those affects you've had on me,
were sparked by your sweet smile.
About the Creator
Joel Lippert
We all just create something out of something else; to create something out of nothing would be truly divine, would it not?
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More stories from Joel Lippert and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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