Sunflowers of My Youth

was it only last night that I was so young,
in knowledge and in action?
now I lay here, far older than I was yesterday,
soiled and unclean with a filth
that will never wash off my soul.
no longer an innocent,
now, I am among the damned,
and I long for the sunflowers of my youth.
my youth is liberally perfumed with the scent,
a sweet intoxicant that made me dim of wit
and convinced me of an invincibility I did not own.
all too soon, the world, with all its rounded dimensions,
crashed down upon me,
devastating me with one mighty, unforgivable stroke,
and stealing from me my youth.

was it only last night that I was so young?
that I felt so wonderful in my ignorance,
in my innocence.
oh, sweet sunflowers of my youth,
I crave the carefree air that you lent me,
but I no longer breathe as those who have not sinned do,
and with gills grown out of necessity I continue to live,
though I drown in the misery my wisdom has wreaked upon me.
and for what?
a love that blinded me against reason?
a love that I had already scorned?
redemption is beyond me.
were it offered,
I would probably refuse it.
wretches such as I do not deserve paradise,
and it is the scent of light blue and not sunflowers
that will wreathe around me as I descend into the pit hell.

Image: Anna Cervova, Sunflower, Public Domain Pictures.net