Younger Days

I walk slow through the fire
To pretend I'm the peak of higher 
Just to lower my gaze 
Til I'm eye to eye with the power of my desires
As tears shower the horizon
And drenched me in a choir 
That sings the misfortunes of
Untold stories
Relived stanzas
Im unable to remember....
I steal a thought

That mesmerizes 
As a kleptomaniac that wanders through the vault of my memories 
Remembering the impulse
Of my passion
I scorched earth 
But in her healing 
The scars depict my wrath unchecked
But who is she? 

Her?
She, being anything not manly  enough to tough talk
Or toke the line
After a stern phrase
Now it's either a standoff
Or a man down.....
She, being anything that can't withstand the confrontation 
And as for "her"...?
Let the metaphor move you

As I disrupted any peacekeeping mediator attempting to rectify the disturbance in my imbalance.. 
I ERUPT
As if Zeus hurling bolt from atop Mount Olympus 
Yet, that pales in comparison to the volcanic seizure that topples any seismograph, failing to measure up
But what's the measure of a man?

I stood tall
Bootstraps in hand
Pride crafted my wardrobe
Emotion fastened my cufflinks 
And to think!?
I could not
Or would not?
"I can't call it"
I say that in the wisdom of my jest
Yet it was that same common sense I lacked 
When trying to grip the concept
Without misunderstanding 
I constantly overstepped 
With frequency 

Some say, "Those were the days"
Others hide their face in shame and regret 
But both shared types
Sit back to reflect 
Simply to frame it as... 
"Younger Days"