I used to write poetry a lot more than I do now. I guess I'm less creative now, although the quality of my writing has definitely increased over the years. It seems the better my language, the less I use it...
Anyway, I've had a small image in my head today so I guess I'll try to make something of it...
I walked along the edge of something, nameless but alive
Stepping to the beat, yet closer to the end
And saw over that precipice a feeling I'd describe
In colors I can't speak, and dreams that passed me by
The flicker of nostalgia, like I hadn't seen
And jamais-vu the likes of which I can't comprehend
And everything, it seemed to me, was as it once had been
Now finally reminding me I can't go home again.