I hark back to the past,
When I used to feel something,
When I used to be someone,
Now something has snapped,
I don’t feel alive anymore,
My glories seem so far gone,
When did the mine blow off?
There was no explosion,
But a silent beckoning to back down,
An inward crumbling of artistic sense,
An implosion due to it’s own weight,
And still I get the glimpses,
Perhaps hallucinations of an old amnesiac,
Or perhaps an oracle for real flowering,
A harkening back of a lukewarm past,
Only a preparation for something cosmic..