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The idealist in me

As time moves along and you get older
you stop visiting the places
that brought you joy
places that defined you
when you were just the bud of a flower
desperately awaiting
for life to begin

On these streets where you left pieces of yourself
when you were just a foolish thug
you would one day learn
that proselytizing theories
of culture, history, and wars
would suddenly end
after you grow

But in those days,
of blissful youth
you could afford to recite
Thoreau, Marx, or Jung-
Time moved slowly
and you wandered
with several books in hand
covering your sights
floating aimlessly
up and down avenues
as you searched for life
in the sounds of vinyl records
while relaxing at the Big Cup
or scavenging for night time looks
from a second hand thrift shop
on St. Marks

Every where you went
you left your mark of youth
and you believed
this time would never end-
You could never foresee
how your scenery would change
when you believed, your days would go on

In those precious dying days,
when your emotions ran high
and you barely took the time to look uptown
you marked these places with bits of your soul
transferring your burning energy
onto the wooden benches of Mercer Park
foolishly believing
you and your friends
would change the world
one struggle
at a time

But places in fact change
and the people who made them, leave
when a path is eventually found
for the young person
who thought they could remake the world
under the guise of every revolutionary book
that was spiritually usurped
under the shade of a walnut tree
at Washington Sq. Park


I really like this piece. It flows nicely, and the meaning is very true. I'm not very good at giving reviews, but as far as I can say, this is a very good poem. Your use of literary devices are wonderful. "when you were just the bud of a flower" is a beautiful line. Well done.