Do you remember when everyone else
didn’t matter, didn’t exist, didn’t come into play,
on our state of mind,
in fact
they left us alone altogether
because we certainly didn’t notice them.
We were too busy
trying to understand ourselves,
yet we forgot
to remind each other,
we did matter,
we really did
matter.
©️ Scott F Savage 8/2021
If we might
without the normal rules that apply
oh that judgement
that scrutiny
a bald-faced lie
or even maybe
misperception.
When would you might look me in the eye
could you really see
or is there a measure
beyond our normal ability to share compassion
when one is feeling
a strong breeze shifting planes of emotion,
traveling away from where we are
want to be,
felt we could or had been or knew
when once there was an electrifying
pandemonium
of love and passion and unbridled
sensuality
suddenly today these tears,
those images we all try to hide away
this flood of drowning sorrows
becomes some measurable albatross
forever standing in the way.
© Scott F Savage 5/2021
I take my dog on a predictable walk,
didn’t imagine this would be my life,
he was gift and the walk
rather predictable
helps define a certain decision.
Can I grow through life ignoring
his needs,
looking at him now
his nose pressed to the window,
telling me it’s time,
his needs are greater than my own.
I suppose that might fascinate me,
to know there are rules
within our emotional paths,
we choose,
and yet we find routine speak true
in our hearts,
when our loves
our nostalgia,
some favorite melody
we were listening to when
we could see the distant stars
along this unusual travel.
I took a walk with my dog the other day,
I started wearing my headphones,
while he could still
with doleful eyes, lead the way.
© Scott F Savage 5/2020
When we want to only offer a gesture of support, it is sometimes misconstrued because perhaps we cannot look each other in the eye. We rely upon words, and the truth of the matter is, words tell us nothing about the present. They only offer speculation, and when one-sided that theory can quite earnestly be wrong.
I want to hear
only a whisper
enough to give solace
to a nightmare
I feel when I imagine
what is real
according to fantasy,
all wrapped into
a wonderful mystique.
We are a funny lot when things don’t go our way. We panic, we believe it is our own fault (not to say many times it is) and so we react rather than take the time to find perspective. What is perspective when we cannot determine where life stands in the moment? We relay on memory, on faith, on hope. We rely on knowing all we want is someone’s genuine happiness. We try to let our minds give freedom to each other’s peril until the discord might straighten itself out.
I know nothing about you,
though I thought it were true
your passion, your sweet resonate
beauty in word in eye in smile,
I believe every illusion ever
to cross my path,
would never instruct my own
frame of mind
to use ignorance
to ever forget the lovely
challenge of your sweet persona.
So we are again challenged by words alone, without the inflection of a smily, of a pained expression, of eyes that close and tear up in the agony of someone’s reality. Words alone cannot provide safe eyes for someone’s touch, that moment of security, allows us to feel.
One might suggest love
for it offers solace to a rainy day.
An emotional sojourn whether ascending
or driven into the depths of despair.
Once when held in the arms of compassion,
the human condition is found to feel a fire.
When lost inside the convoluted nature of misgiving,
a heart becomes clearly detached from soul.
What an adventure is love,
to withstand the battlefield,
to level the storm,
try to understand the torrential fires
that do sweep the mind completely from our heart.
What is it then remains in the aftermath
when two people practice refusal
one decidedly lives happily in torment.
There are days when it can be felt
a morning solace, peace of mind
a sort of reason to be able to thrive.
We count on those hours with hope,
not like planning the night before –
oh tomorrow will be that day.
We just feel it in our pores
we know the rains will come steady
as will a basking sunlight of freedom.
We just don’t know when we might
be asked, handle both in the same hour.
–
~ finding my way, a personal journey ~
for Zelda
When
hate
becomes our wanted respite,
not the word
really
just the spillage,
the need
to empty our soul
such energy
uglies the mind
such a degree we may no longer know
or
imagine what we once
adored
sweet elegance,
soft mystique
whispers
this certain
love
 | a quiet man on Haiku Love |
 | Yernasia Quorelios on Haiku Love |
| a quiet man on I Took A Walk |
 | Priti on I Took A Walk |
| Priti on I Took A Walk |
Turning trauma into triumph since 1981.
Sometimes writing poems let's me forget about the huge sums of debt I'm accumulating while at college
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