Seems readily apparent,
the look in eyes,
we are all wondering
standing next to one another
when and where
why and what matters now
how do we understand,
care, wish, respect.
One life taken,
and thousands beyond,
curious what outcome
lay ahead, lay upon,
‘lay across my big brass bed’
and we’ll all recall the bothersome
reality that onus upon man,
‘quite frankly, I don’t give a damn,’
won’t grant you shit anymore.
In fact, in opinion, in speculation,
we’re all riding the pendulum together,
so it seems,
so we wonder,
So, actually, the truth still matters.
See you on the other side,
said the blind man,
who chose to wonder
rather than feel the tension
round and round
the merry-go-round …
… and the beat goes on.
There is a difference in tone,
a solitary figure in a moonlit backdrop,
the sky is a canvas capable of new horizons,
if only for a moment the character
might stand completely still.
Completely still inside a memory,
holding onto the silence,
a wishful recall
a sweet response to time
is all the solitary figure might choose.
Might choose offers certain doubt,
when realizing how time plays a role
in knowing love,
he does want to stand there forever,
in the hope that stillness might be a blessing.
She is that fond imagination,
the caress of somber spirituality,
the sort that energy
speaks of out loud
without any reservation, ever.
I once recall a story of a man,
caught inside a cycle of quiet remind,
always pushing, forever angling,
imagining the final stride would
accentuate his peak, yet the fall …
There is a breaking point in sanity,
when beyond the notion of real,
the body might sacrifice comfort,
instead a forever lust toward peace,
will always compel a forgiveness ahead.
When walking alone hopeful by design,
I would the eternal march quiet resign.
In the reality of my dreams,
I watched her go about her world,
I could stand nearby
notice and wonder,
watch the being of her energy
carry a room,
cause purpose in the eyes of an onlooker.
This is the certain radiance,
when woman in elegance,
allows only the shine,
the reverence belongs inside a dream
where reality can never sway
the delight of an innocent eye.
I stood near the doorway,
wondering about exits,
the outside world,
where everyone is on their own,
I contemplated the next moment,
would she always stand nearby.
Turning toward the room,
I let my dream take me away,
forever bound by the delight of time,
she would, will, can she really, well, yes,
always dance inside a dream
would I rather remain,
an eternal reminder.
When love does call out,
we can all remind ourselves,
there is beauty in time,
an elegance in
a silent utterance.
While we might pretend a reality,
the world exists beyond a norm,
there are the pitfalls,
yet even then,
a person might want to question,
There is often found a reasonable ideal
suggests the beauty of love,
beyond the possibility,
cautioned beyond a passion,
and instead lost in the ambivalence,
inherent in error.
Though then the albatross be revealed,
we must love the knowing glance well fed.
in that moment,
when I might know,
advances were of an innocent nature,
she cried inside,
not letting me ever see her pain,
yet I was the bewildered one,
now with a stain,
a lasting impression,
I would carry with me forever.
I suppose it is that patriarchal significance,
self-assured and callous,
anticipating the world to be our measure
yet in that quiet memory,
I do recall her laughter,
bring us to the top of the mountain,
just the ledge,
the ledge that kept testing balance,
would never have held us both.
In lasting memory,
I always do replay the moments,
and she would later,
have a confusion,
I can only hope would someday
turn a smile.
yet when walking the halls,
only when at first he wondered,
about another anomaly,
the forgotten ones,
the two or three or five
having a soul,
having desire and passion and verve,
that energy is a mystique,
he never realized