A singular rhythm
slow, methodical like a ticking
clock only one can hear,
the other too far away
to suggest any balance
together in the response.
In childhood,
we had monsters
outside our door,
when laying in bed
we could hear footsteps …
only later did we
accept our heartbeat
as the antagonist
of our dreams.
The sky outside
is crisp with spring,
a natural light of resonate
beauty that does scream,
take me, hold me, share me
with love,
and yet,
he is caught in a spell
the ticking clock
the only static
he can hear today.
If in a moment, he decides
a kinetic reach,
the whispers
the songs in his head
stay far away from letting him
feel her own dreams
are nigh.
apersonaljourney - stories of love 