Nostalgia II

It doesn’t take old songs
It doesn’t take old voices
It doesn’t take an ancient pen
To hold you back in
Where you started and started again

The winds will roll out their tongues
And move swiftly
To lick nostalgia upon a river of time
Through your skin
Your Ears
Your Eyes
Your Nose
Your Tongue
Wherever they deem a suit to smart you in the heart

I reckon that be a rescue
From the rolling of your conveyor belt days
Or perhaps just a pain loving moment?
That the winds are blamed
It’s possibly only a simple choice of thought
Where you decide to either play in harmony with yourself
Or gangster bang your sweet present
And poison the minutes you’re in
With a myth
- A ghost of yourself

But all in time
Before you think you got it
That you’ve been guided back with candy shots
Through the dangles of dreamy reenactment
Forcing your eyes spinning white
Watching the crackling frames
Of your backward spool
Swallowing spit
In shiverness
Down the gullet of delicious memories
Your old fingers gouge the pouting sockets of recollection
Trying in hardness to live within the fingers of your fist
Elastic time will snap you back
And there you go
Swinging through the leaves of a yellow past
Never knowing what really hit you
When all it was that did
Were the sounds of the little soft notes
You hear in peeling layers of nostalgia
Within the solace of a quiet moment