Lacrimae sunt rerum, E.J. Hutchinson (September 2026)

 Lacrimae sunt rerum

Summer is the most nostalgic time,
Remembering how once the blood ran hot,
Regretting every hill I have not climbed,
Recalling what I was and now am not.

But then again, I was not often good.
I seldom had a motive that was pure.
I did what I liked because I could,
And what I did not like would not endure.

I dreamed and did not care that it was day.
I laughed and did not care that others cried.
Still, the sun was warm upon my face,
Though now I’m shamed by its all-seeing eye.

On Zeus’s threshold always stand two urns:
Remembered pain and pleasure. Each one burns.