Revive

Saw my old diary again after all these years.

Those dusty papers in a rusty closet, I struggled to reach.

Much like my wrinkled face, I saw a crumbled paper in between.

And tried to read the words of faded ink through my thick glasses.

"My first poem!" I exclaimed, as I recalled it like a sudden bolt.

A weak smile slipped through my lips - a smile of reminiscence.

Closed my fist tighter and chinned up my face,

I determined to write one last poem of my life.

So what, if it doesn't rhyme like a poem should?

I can still go on and revive my golden days for good.