An Ode to Muses to Kleio

Nostalgia

I used to come here when childlike joy coursed through my veins.
The sun didn't seem so harsh, and the silence wasn't so deafening.
I remember when the ground was littered with fresh fruit and only two knew of its existence.
Watercolors were used to strike this canvas yellow and orange.
Now, there is a strawberry haze in the shape of a broken smile.
I had never seen it in the dark when the hills went to sleep, and the city reflected the stars.
I can no longer hear engines racing up the winding road,
Or the train passing through the graffiti tunnel.
The only movement is in the autumn breeze,
With lovers in parked cars cluttering the view.
I see a young girl and boy of sixteen,
Drifting away as the world sings its lullaby,
While they also fall under the Sandman's spell.
I only enter their storybook for a moment, an extra in their grand scheme.
I remember when my dreams played on brown iris screens.
Their live theatre diminishes in my rearview mirror,
As I leave them in their psychosis.
Nothing is left of me here, except for my time.
I fear this secret was too well kept.