Ode to the Fading of May

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

The fading fragrance of May lingers still in the blowing wind. Distinct, unique, the merry month of May brings back memories of dalliances with childhood fantasies and recollections of long forgotten moments blossoming on a fresh May morning on an open field of dreams and hopes that bloomed and flourished once and then faded and waned into the recesses of my mind

ODE TO THE FADING OF MAY

By Al Garcia

The fading fragrance of May lingers still in the blowing wind.  Distinct, unique, the merry month of May brings back memories of dalliances with childhood fantasies and recollections of long forgotten moments blossoming on a fresh May morning on an open field of dreams and hopes that bloomed and flourished once and then faded and waned into the recesses of my mind.

It was a day in May that I lost the innocence of my youth.  I recall the scent in the air, the stillness of the moment and the sweat dripping from my brow.  I remember thinking of school bells ringing and children smiling, and the days of summer beckoning.  How strange to think of such simple things and of other days in May when I was young, innocent and still believed in dreams.

The sounds and images of war defy the logic of a young man’s mind.  I was no different than others that had come this way before.  Yet my beating heart and trembling hands deceived my untainted and incomplete soul.  I was too young to die, and too old to simply pick up my toys and walk away.  And so, on a day in May, not much different than today, I stood in the stillness of the moment, wiped sweat from my brow and smelled the smokeless scent of burning plastic or burnt sulfur from fireworks I used to play with as a kid.  Except I was no longer a kid, and no longer playing a game.  I was in the middle of a war and in a game played for keeps. 

Of all the months and years I’ve lived, I remember one day in May that changed me from a boy into a man.  And on that day in May, when I became a man, I still remember the sounds, the images and the smell that made my eyes tear up, my heart skip a beat, and my soul shatter into a million bits.  And it is always at the end of May that memories flood my mind of a time, a place, and faces that never seem to fade.

How simple life used to be before that day in May, before I saw and felt the ugliness that dwells inside our beating hearts.  Instead of seeing daffodils in bloom or the blossoming of a cherry tree, or smelling the aroma of magnolias in the air, I saw the remnants of vanquished lives littered on lonely fields of rice and muddied paths that led to nowhere.

To have seen the cruelty and barbarity that man can bestow upon his fellow man can forever scar a human soul.  It is the thing that nightmares are made of and what wakes grown men up in the middle of the night. 

Between the nightmares and the dreams, I still can on occasion smell the fading fragrance of May lingering in the blowing wind.  Still distinct.  Still unique.  May sometimes does bring back memories of dalliances with childhood fantasies and recollections of long forgotten moments blossoming on a fresh May morning of my childhood, where once bloomed dreams and hopes on fields of tomorrows and of forever. 

I want to wake up one May morning and smell again the daffodils and magnolias, and marvel at the blossoming of the cherry trees.  But like the vanquished lives that cloud my mind and pain my soul, the month of May will not return or ever be the same as when I was a boy, innocent and ignorant of what it meant to be man.


Submitted: May 24, 2021

© Copyright 2021 A.Garcia. All rights reserved.

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