If we could rewrite ourselves,
imagine the choices we might make
in the impulsivity of our dreams,
desires, passions, that inspiration
keeps our yearning
within a quiet frame,
when compelled inside the silence.
While lives intersect,
there is a loss
time matters
only in the heart,
that does bleed,
bleeds long into a twilight
a crimson wonder,
the stars speak of solace,
yet that ache
always remain.
Now this world we know,
we knew,
we wish only to remain
in part
satisfied though our yearn
might always want more,
one perhaps
less ambivalent than the other,
though we know there are times,
the passion,
a memory,
a quiet interlude,
soft is the beauty of love.
If then might we remind
While slow does the hour wind
Now might the answer we find.
© Scott F Savage 2019
apersonaljourney - stories of love 