That ancient enemy

The shiner of the tarnished, that anachronistic foe

It arrives with pleasantries, but never leaves the same

It tells you all the wonderful things that happened in your past,

But when it departs, it leaves a bitterness unequaled in the world

If squalor had a feeling, nostalgia would be its definition

There are few defenses to this heartless foe excepting apathy

Give up your emotions, let your heart die

Or you’ll find the monster pressing on your present

Categories: Experimental Poetry Prose Uncategorized

Tagged as: Nostalgia Poetry Prose

abnormalvaverage

I'm a high school English teacher in Texas. I also hold degrees in radiography and radio and television broadcasting. Though I obtained certain knowledge and skills from my prior degrees, I do not currently use them.