Poem: The Golden Age

Strip us from our timelines,
So we can choose where we can be.
Live as we would like to live,
Oh, what it is I wouldn’t give
To be in familiar company…

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Sultry sophistication,
Seated on our chaise longue,
In the privacy of our room.

Soft green velvet of faded forests,
The low yellow glow of the lamplight beside us,
A book to share, and time to spare,
As we sip a simple ginger ale,
And let romance ignite the pale
Cigarette smoke misty air.

Opulence in black and white,
Old Hollywood film stars shining bright,
In the mystique mood of a sensual night.

Conjured from the trumpet
Of our gilded gramophone,
Faint memories of that Jazz Café,
The clink of glass, a swing ballet,
And that sweet, seductive moan
Of the gentleman’s saxophone.

This is our golden age, my love.
A slower pace, with stars above
And the moon to light our way…

Let us dance under champagne chandeliers,
And twinkle timelessly through the years,
Kissing away the salty tears
That brim with the sting of unknown fears,
That we may miss the almighty bliss
Of our ardent intimacy.

Sweep me off my feet, instead,
In gowns of gold, and black, and red.
No style unworn, no words unsaid.

Twirling in a ballroom,
Leaving behind our minds.
Waltz away the dim disquiet
Of moments lost to times gone by, it
cannot last, although we try
To cling to us amidst the fire
That burns it to the ground.

Let go, my darling, without lament.
Our unconditional love transcends
The elegance enjoyed in Earthly realms,
Only to be felt in the present tense
That is nothing but a dream.

Hear the call of our soul song,
Remind us where we both belong,
Careful to not put one foot wrong.
For, when time does turn to a fresh page,
We’ll meet again in the new age.

by Sylvia Villa (2025)

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