The Life I Never Lived

Photo by Norbert Buduczki on Unsplash

It has been a while since I’ve written a poem, but this one was waiting for the right time to be shared. Do you ever feel nostalgic for a time or place you’ve never lived in or visited? I often wonder where this sensation comes from. Perhaps it’s our collective memory seeping into our current timeline.

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Deep within me,

sometimes gentle

and sometimes raging,

is a longing

for a time I never breathed in,

for centuries buried

and long forgotten,

for soil that never touched

the soles of my feet.

When evening descended

like riders on horseback,

hooves sticking sparks on stone,

steam and magic rising,

and stars were the only maps.

I miss the candlelight

flickering across the pages of my book,

smoke whispering across the edges,

on nights when time stood still,

when shadows kissed cold stone,

and his kiss brushed my lips.

I long for muddy roads after rain,

the cattle’s breath fogging the morning air,

for letters traveling months to say,

I love you,

I miss you,

please don’t forget me.

Sometimes the wind feels ancient,

as if it passed through a thousand forgotten years

before brushing my face,

though I cannot name what I’ve lost,

and still confirms what I know to be true.

And I stand here in a hurried century

that has forgotten how to wait,

bloated with overuse, disease, and hate,

homesick for a time beyond memory,

for a dawn that rose over castles

long before I was ever imagined.

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