We can bask in an open plaza,
pigeons teasing tourists
couples hand in hand,
the market square
everyone visits,
everyone walks away,
pictures and memories,
of a place we might wish to stay.
My eyes were already on the corner
the cobblestone walkway, the coffee house,
where you may be,
as you have been always
in my dreams
as far back as I may ever recall.
And then a breeze, afternoon sunlight
your silks dance, your eyes do shine.
I may be a stranger in the day,
a coffee is my ruse, a pad of paper I say
in the pages the desire and passion
I may have for the woman nearby
whose eyes follow suit,
in wonder of each passerby.
What is the world we live in,
how do we all seem to find
a similar roadway, a walkway,
a comfortable setting,
outdoor is a romantic interlude
simply sipping a coffee
measured by posture and glance.
Yet I am incapable of following
my dream having reached a limit,
again, I am alone, that stranger
walking through the plaza,
eyes sometime looking,
most often askance,
still searching,
wandering soul,
trying to repair an unraveling heart.
We pass in such is intrigue in the steps of our lives
without completely knowing dreams keep her alive.
© Scott F Savage
the ‘b’ series
apersonaljourney - stories of love 