Treasure Island

Paul Gerard Reed


The Ridge


We are sitting on the ridge
Looking down at our youth
Which lies forlorn in the valley;
We have burnt each bridge
In search of the truth
For our spirits to rally;
Each one of us a sepia image
Transfixed in time
Thoughts no longer golden;
Hurled by the world’s scrimmage
We have lost the rhyme
Our pasts in trust beholden.

Submitted: Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, May 14, 2014

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Topic(s): life

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