David Aichele is 24 years old, lives in Phoenix AZ, and considers himself a poet of the streets, an urban philosopher, and modern-day existentialist. His work chronicles the struggles of city life and the ennui of anonymity in a place with millions of people. About this poem David says: “It tells a tale of bittersweet nostalgia and the hope of recapturing precious moments.”
That Time, Revisited
By David Aichele
Your song,
a haunting minor key,
sweet, tranquil trills of your flute
became the soundtrack to my happiness.
Soft legato undulation
drifting without caution
adorns the stale coffee shop air.
A true confection for the ears
which we once thought as timeless,
now shows its rust, in recent days
has faltered out of tune.
My words,
scribbled in awkward haste
hurried wisps of the ballpoint pen
sat like footprints in the snow.
I offered you my most genuine thoughts
immortalized in print,
taped onto your bedroom wall.
My ink, permeating cheap notebook paper
has bled onto a second page,
invented its own lost alphabet,
hiding any new meaning from you.
Energies we thought were infinite
faded in the cold of the world around us.
Orations of a love story never told
reduced to simple platitudes.
The breath of the gods grew shorter,
the meadows of earthen indulgences browned,
I had thought it up to us
to restore it to its glory.
Very well done, David.
Very nice.
Very well done.