Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Nostalgia

Nostalgia called me from a distant
unforgotten sphere,
existing only in the past,
but always at my ear.

She spoke in words as thin as mist
and cool as graveyard stone;
I hurried then to hear them all,
til we were quite alone,

And in this silver place between
the past and what's to come,
I reveled in the tales of things
I had since moved on from.

I ached for more, and felt each word
brought back from memory's brink,
turned into pictures flanked with verse,
traced in the darkest ink.

The more I drew, the more embellished
each image became,
til colors overwhelmed the lines,
and faces blurred the names.

And once exhausted from her store,
she faded in the light,
and left me in the present time,
with not a friend in sight.

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