POEM 11: Golden Age

The last time I wrote a poem

I used my salty tears as invisible ink

Because no one ever bothers to read an empty page

Hear a silent symphony, all rest, no notes

Or sulk and watch a rotting, sinking boat in the still river

No one ever bothers with a broken toy on the road

A hairlined jukebox vinyl, scratched and spindly

Or gaze on a star that, they divined, was just a wannabe

For it was simply a blob of rock that reflected light

Any mind could write a poem, never mind

The poet inside me that never was

Maybe it came down to how I held the quill

How I placed my hands on the vintage newsprint

Or maybe I never had enough ink to leave a mark

And so, the last time I wrote a poem

I used salty tears as invisible ink

And when they perused the classics and the newfound stars

Mine stood blank, dusty, and meant nothing at all.

Written 14th November, 2021.

Poem copyright © 2021 by Peter Ryuken B. Hermosura, “Golden Age”

Author's Annotations

Golden Age is a poem that reflects on the narrator's mourning of a dream. Using short metaphors about being lost in time and directionless, and elucidating the feeling of acceptance that one's a failure, this poem is a dirge to someone's aspiration, looking back in time. This poem was also written during an anxiety episode.