Nostalgia; Simpler Times

Can a repetition of a time
ever resurrect the beauty of then
even fools know it will not
but time has not been kind
its poultice is weak

the torch is held high, lighting
a way walked, rough at times smooth
history written on canvas
each crease of the paper, each stroke
showing the bold black pen

the candle shines still
on the window facing the sunset
a prayer to the power that is
send the traveller home
hopes wrapped in incense smoke

what hopes do one harbour
for one who left without care
of the cuts and wounds left behind
on hearts of those who loved hard
almost nil, one can say, hopes springs though

its cruel, the longing, even for so simple
as a way of life, loving and laughter
a life lived with like-minded people
a communal bliss of being with family
and with a beloved

live as one can live, with the beauty
of memories, haloed softly by nostalgia
like old coins dug up periodically
by a zealous collector
so does one with memories.