The quiet should not sound so loud
In these the corner closets of my mind.
Hidden spaces now too brightly lit
Like dueling searchlights at a premier.
Back alleys of thought turn and lead,
Winding and finding their wistful way
To the same twisting courtyard of me.
They meander, merge, and meet as one
In collected recollections of timestamps
Where a man reflects on regrets and missteps,
Chasing and racing to face the boy he once knew.