How many more
how many years,
the hours that lead to the time
when he would reflect,
helpless to his own emotions,
just aware,
seeing a clock on the wall,
empty streets below,
the windows of the village,
have all darkened the lives
of any indication
of the human condition,
humanity,
all of us
cloistered in such is this unique
pandemic,
yet isolated,
without words,
only silence,
only a twilight,
always a wonder,
in his wandering mind,
trying to fix the past,
and yet,
unable again,
to catch up to his
present
so he may feel
her own mystique,
a muse, her
presence.
© Scott F Savage 4/2020
apersonaljourney - stories of love 