Never in my life has a poem taken me this long to write. I started this weeks ago and only just finished it. It's written in iambic tetrameter, which I have never before attempted and what proved to be more difficult than I would have ever imagined. But, I'm pleased with the finished product. Let me know what you think.
Forgotten cities scattered round
inside my brain; these ruins found
by elder hands that long forgot
their ancient purpose, though they brought
and built these lands of long ago,
the lands of myth—of friends and foe—
of legends, whispers—there was truth
once hidden here within my youth.
The pillars fell and crumbled down
by something past—some slow break down
extending through my nineteen years;
a demolition of my fears.
I lost you there within the waste
and so much more that’s been replaced.
These cities glistened at their height
like beacons through the black and white,
but something happened throughout time—
a war, a flee, a horrid crime—
that drove these cities underground,
these cities that can now be found
decaying, falling. Pieces of
my memories—of joy and love—
of anger, heartache—all these, lost
among the wreckage. And the cost
of memory is higher than
a treat or trinket made by man.
A thought of you I had back then
encapsulated how and when
and who you were compared to me;
but now, you are an absentee,
and now, my past is but a ghost
inside these ruins. Here’s a toast
to all of you I will forget,
to all of you I may have met,
to all the friends I may have shared
the times of old, the times we cared,
the times that we once knew each other,
the times when you were like my brother,
the times when love was hidden in-
between our words, inside our skin,
and wrapped around our fingertips.
The images and written scripts
have not survived my passage through
the fading years and on into
the present day. Goodbye, farewell
to fallen cities where you dwell,
goodbye sweet songs and dancing days,
where secrets slept inside a phrase.
And now, I've long forgotten why
the cities tumbled from the sky
so long ago. My hands have found
a broken piece from underground
engraved with language I can’t read;
a word that holds a long-lost creed,
but useless now. I rise again,
not knowing where it is I've been,
and leave the ruins to their doom,
and leave the cities in their tomb,
while I march on to modern lands
and leave the mound with empty hands.