Echoes of the Past

The cul-de-sac lies quiet, a ghost of our youth,

trees stretch their arms like they’re waiting for truth.

Bicycles rust against faded fences,

the laughter of summers held in their senses.

With each step I take on this weathered street,

I hear echoes of joy from the friends at my feet.

Once we were bold, we chased endless days,

yet now I’m just wandering, lost in the haze.