To imagine
lives predestined
such a beautiful thing
to imagine
our state of mind
might be the same
miles away
thoughts beyond.
To imagine
we can correspond
with one another’s moves
an art of serendipity
whose questionable
authority
might probably suggest
to imagine
is beautiful
inside
its idiotic
penchant
to dream
© aquietman
only she might know her tears while he is masculinity
lost in pause
hers is well-defined in silence as he might pressure on
she would stoic
emergence is her elegance in posture
his exceeding passing frenzy
could only wish to achieve a peace
some compelling save would might settle her storm
this is love
© Scott F Savage 7/2021
I don’t often try to interpret my own writings, but I wanted to break this one down. Hopefully it will help me as well piece together my thinking. I wrote this piece earlier for my Twitter account, many followers the same, yet readers for whom I am grateful … here it is:
I’m not that guy
the one who
lands behind the blame
covers his ideals
so lucky it becomes true
but I’m not him
I haven’t a terrible reason
mostly selfish at best
and then one day,
affection – the kind unknown
to this man.
So when comparisons
light up
there is that … muse
I suppose I was reacting to some of the lambasting that goes on between the writers on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, here collectively in social media. One guy described the women as being ‘wine-drinking soccer moms with fleeting fantasies’ and another described the guys as being ‘men hiding behind terrible marriages they blame their wives for.’ So I wrote this, because I’m not that guy.
I’m the guy that blames himself. I’m the one with a genuine desire to be known as someone who has made the choice to not be happy in my marriage for personal reasons and not those of my wife’s treatment of me. I treated her far worse than she could ever treat me. I was the one starving for attention, and somehow I received it, and because of that my passions at home drifted measurably.
I rather enjoy the people I meet on Twitter, but I would be misusing stereotype if I felt all women and all men came from the same mold. I’d like to shatter that clay.
I wrote the piece above because, I’m not hiding behind anything anymore. I have had conversations with my spouse and have come to the conclusion there is not a lot of progressive optimism in who we are. But let me clear, she is a wonderful person, whom if I make a choice to leave than clearly I am the selfish one. However there is this thing about happiness, and in the last three years, and a decade earlier, I did find just that, for awhile, enough for me to be a believer.
I speak of my muse, the inspiration behind all of my writings in the last few years. I came in here to these pages a naive ‘little’ man in a candy store, and turned people away. Since that realization I have set my sights on being the genuine person I am, a man of true feelings, compassion and a sensitive nature that surely sets me up.
I discovered happiness in recent years, and now am having trouble letting go of it. Thus the need to express my state of mind in poetry.
Thanks for listening, and comments are always welcome.
I will write to the words and the dreams,
I’ll find solace in feeling this is real,
the notes in my melody,
the wit, spoken, felt in a good phrase,
a sunny morning,
the frost on winter’s edge,
all beautiful reminders of that which is
her.
In a quiet meadow,
I can see two lovers
the breeze tangling their hair
so the onlooker has no possibility
of witnessing that love
their eyes share together
in the autumn sky,
watching time say good bye.
I once knew a woman,
she once told me,
we were in love
we knew the travels ahead
would send us down different paths
and yet,
we struggled through the high brush,
for each time we were lost
our eyes
would meet again, traversing a sweet terrain.
Because I have known love, I have witnessed a reckoning,
a butterfly on a soft shoulder leaves me envious in a kiss
~ finding my way, a personal journey
to Zelda with love
photo – pinterest
 | 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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