I found a stack of old photos
last night.
Those that survived
the psycho Korean.
She threw away all
my photo albums.
Browsing through,
memories flood,
I could cry
no more.
Those lost years,
where are they?
Those false hopes,
what are they?
I've been searching
for a passage
to meaning,
I've been looking
for a reason
for breathing.
The youth of my life,
been drained,
by the failures
of my many years.
We looked happy
together,
we were young.
We thought
we could kick ass,
knock them down.
Time it was,
and what a time
it was,
when endless mornings
pass like a gentle breeze,
and the warm sun
caressed my skin.
But the warmth
been long gone,
sacrificed
for unpredictable
and dangerous
rainstorms.
When the love is gone,
all that's left
are haunting memories
yearning regrets,
and a stack
of old photos.
