The Wild Flowers of Rusden Teachers College

beware, first edit so this will take a bit of editing/polishing...

The Wild Flowers Of Rusden Teachers College:

Sometimes I think about that strange place

where buildings collected as if they had fallen -

not a thought for rhyme or reason, apt for the times

before every shape took on someone’s importance,

while we, the mad children of the times

collected in black caverns of fantasy and desire

strutted under lights while we ingested or drank

and never gave a thought to time’s heedless passage.

It was so long ago now, so far away in time,

those lessons in limbo when experiences fell through fingers

like sand lifted up in the hand and we let our voices

whisper and roar as we raced through love and lust

our hands slipping and gripping even as the familiarity

wove an unbroken chain through the ensuing years.

It was a time of youthful energy, when the follies

and the hurts we gave to each other were never intended

for we were the wild flowers that bloom in innocence

as we climbed the stairs into adulthood’s light –

oh we thought ourselves so majestically grown then,

took ourselves far too seriously, as only the young truly can,

 and played so hard we fell alone or together, rose again

like starving Draculas seeking the next dramatic neck

to drain to the very last bittersweet drop then taking the bow.

I miss those times, that moment of blossoming,

for though I have found many such moments in the light,

and many moments too alone before the howling abyss,

it is the first blossom in company with like-yielding wild flowers

that always fill memories stolen in the evening sunlight

with the strongest scent of both tears shed and laughter shared.