To The Hour Bygone

They poured in through the gash in the wall;
The crimson rays of the dying sun.
And bathed my world in a strange hue,
Like drugs infiltrating my veins.

The air breezed about in strange fashion,
As if talking to the gusty trees.
The stars had just started to twinkle.
As if knowingly winking at me.

I lay sprawled on the floor;
Ogling at the strange reflections on the walls.
They clouded my being and my senses,
Like moon being hidden by rag like clouds.

I think about the future,
I think about the past.
That moment then was beautiful.
But in my naiveté I let it pass.

My present leaves me now wearied out.
I wander alone in this maze of questions.
And my troubled mind seeks its refuge;
Like a defeated soldier retreating home.

I turn to those soft hours now.
They shine on like smouldering cinders.
They shine on but never seem to flame out.
Like those shimmering stars who once winked.

That hour often glimmers afresh,
Lighting my shadowy path in ways unknown.
What is this miracle I wonder aloud!
I take a walk back into that world once known.