I yearn for the girl I used to be.

The girl who used to care about her studies.
The girl who used to write poetry.
The girl who used to sing confidently.
The girl who used to paint vividly.
The girl who used to love freely.
The girl who used to care deeply.

I do not care about my studies (as much).
I do not write poetry (as much).
I do not sing confidently (as much).
I do not paint vividly (as much).
I do not love freely (as much).
I do not care deeply (as much).

The intensity has passed on,
to younger generations,
to newer beings,
to fresh souls,
with more to live for,
with more to care for,
and with more to prepare for,
than I.

For I am old,
and I will continue to do the things I love,
but not with the passion,
but not with the love,
but not with the care,
but not with the confidence,
but not with the freedom,
that I once had.

f.m.s.

That spark
I remember feeling so alive
So happy
Innocent
Bliss
We didn’t care about anything else except the moment
We weren’t worried about what people thought
We were true to ourselves
But that’s the best part
We didn’t know it then
But we know it now

It starts a low rumble
sends its deepest ohm
from molten ore    up up
through ice and whirl and water
sleeping soil

more quickly now, spark and stir
jumps root to coil
smells the sky, aches for reach and measure
the other side

scorched, the soft inside of skin
touched by primal flame    up up it shoots
past fear and lists and blinking lights
nerve to neuron
fire to pen

called forth each day
by stillness
named each day, and nurtured
this first fig, this hot flash
eternal is
me

And everytime,
I see those
sparkling dark eyes,
I fall in love
a little more than before,
yet another time

It’s hardly a flicker,
A flash in the dark -
But it’s markedly something
Perhaps a new start