Off the Calendar

Eras begone
as reckoning bloom.
My flesh had grown
but my soul remains my own.
 
My core's lost and torn,
as the innocence departed and drowned.
Miles walked facedown,
reached this novel town.
 
Distant time had flown,
Pieces yet haven't sawn.
 
Decades may not return,
as existence and its puzzles are never left unturn.
Figmental impressions to mourn,
In quintessence of souls made drawn.
 
Hereafter left under the cobblestone,
Foretime placed and forgotten.
Pleased for days that shone,
unexpectedly so for nights lived alone.