We might travel a distance,
places we recall,
where we once knew love,
and now,
in the spirit of a dream,
we might imagine ourselves,
stolen stoic solemn souls.
The stolen part of my life
returned in a dream,
all seemed so natural,
nothing needing to be schemed,
we held each other,
loved a rainy day in the park,
we could do this forever,
and in a dream,
there isn’t a need to question why.
My posture nowadays
in certain settings
has a stoic sort of coping stance
I wish the world to believe
when alone or in a crowd,
I am the same person I have always been,
not the failure that my presence
in recent weeks speaks, as told again.
There are those reflective tiles
each will contain a wonderful vision,
inside the dream the beauty of time,
the natural course of where we have been,
suddenly returns in full glance,
the tiles a story,
each would illuminate the power
of love, and then …
My soul has been recently crushed,
not by societal reason,
more the discretion of my love,
so my spiritual nature struggles
to find my place,
who I am,
what I designed my world to become,
how it travels like a dream
from one hour to the next
in happiness and an extreme.
Last night dreams escaped my morning,
and it became clear that one dawning
in a captured moment of a running stream
I will seek and find that dream.
© Scott F Savage 2/2020
apersonaljourney - stories of love 