In Memory of Adolescence

When I was younger,
I grinded my life away building
shrines to two Maries,

I dreamt of song,
and sang, as fledgelings do,

I once wept, and dreamt of water,
as one plagued by unknown pestilences,

and I blindly searched for love,
amidst a sea of lust, and lost hope,
and gained it back again, many times over.


Now,
Though I am no Man as yet,
I mourn lust and sorrow,
and their former novelty,
and my untamed voice,
once a virgin lyre,
is no more,
and my soul with hands, uncouth
that somehow stumbled across love.

What bittersweet desire is this?
What tempered reminiscence
for the wild vicissitudes of youth?