Kings and Queens

Sometimes I look back to those days,
Back to golden years not so very long ago.
When we were each kings and queens,
Our younger days before our troubles.
When we were free and unhindered,
Unshackled by the thought of consequence.
When Our faults did not matter,
Our mistakes weren’t so permanent.
Before a future to dread or a past to regret,
Only now to squander as we saw fit.
Those warm days when we still felt things deeply,
When we still loved recklessly.
Those delicious days when we were kings and queens,
When we did all else but mourn.

Memory of the Quiet Room

Behind the creaking door,
Down into the dark,
Where that place was once a home.

The stairs met a wall,
An tea lights were placed.
As an unintentional shrine.

Here we kept it,
That book of shadows
Wire bound and always open.

We bragged of our shames,
Our private betrayals,
Our petty conquests of the flesh.

So proud as we sowed our way,
Through the great mediocrates,
Of our young lives.

Moments of recklessness,
Written down for posterity,
Moments we later decided to forget.

That record of our age of triumphs,
We since ordered burned,
This was its final secret.

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