When might imagine,
a visit after all these years.
Moments of wonder
wishing for a time
that would return our hearts
to a moment in our lives.
I watched the sunset today
imagining her by my side,
a smile and eyes
feeling her head resting upon
my shoulder.
We could do this for the rest of our lives,
if the world around us
gave us this freedom
this knowledge the heart
speaks to the soul
when all else
is set aside
to embrace the reality of our love.
I visited you
a sky of blue
crisp autumn breeze
stood with her ease.
It’s when someone knows
another goes
some familiar ground
once felt so sound.
Tonight he might
her energy invite
if only she knew
his passing through.
Haven’t a place to begin
sorting through old tapes.
The aftermath,
sometimes would chase me in
leaving little remaining wrath,
only hope and peace but running laps.
Haven’t found a solution
only a quiet, a reckoning.
He could not make a decision,
instead
life just happened
when he went to bed at nightfall
and awoke to the rising sun,
he knew every moment could be the same
every moment could be
the same.
Nothing really changes over the decades
is what he might say
at last,
until someone forgot to listen
then the broken record seems to play the same
always a repeat
always a repeat
always a
sort of undecided truth.
She asked him later to stop being so repetitive.
© Scott F Savage 9/2021
If were true
that we all agree
to what degree
such predisposed
philosophy
might give suggestion
to a position
of clarity brought on by
simple sentences
that spoke the truth
yet those words
those words
spoken with such authority,
no one ever figured out
didn’t know how
to – well couldn’t
disagree.
© Scott F Savage 9/2021
Soft is the drift outside my window,
flaky and spread across the horizon,
I could watch the glaze for hours,
the night sky lighting up my path
I wonder sometimes when it rains
what happens to the natural beauty
of a fresh snowfall in middle winter.
The top glazes over as the winds
settle the drops upon a fresh snow,
ice sheaths begin to grow across
the lawns, and everything is crisp.
I wonder sometimes if it is the rain
or is it my own inability to find gain.
© Scott F Savage 9/2021
When tears remain alone it is difficult to sigh
having no one nearby to ask me why
I suffer so readily
wishing I might see
one day the truth to all of this anxiety
what feels right somehow my idiocy.
Only shared in my own head
the rest of the world is dead
when just alone
I am forlorn
driven by the questions that remain
always wanting somehow fears refrain.
It is a simple resolution
to finally find a solution.
We run the risk of always wondering forever
if this life of ours did find a meaningful future.
© Scott F Savage 9/2021
A choice of version,
definition
to know the exacting moment
when perspective
lost
becomes our own albatross
though aware
a long time ago
just continue to beat the dead horse
beat a dead horse,
my mom used to yell that across the room
her and dad
dad and her,
seemed a common phrase
helped us all get through the night,
oh the bold and natural desire
we have to
be right
listen to me,
understand it’s
all
about
him (me).
© Scott F Savage 9/2021
This thought of love
does cross my mind,
the other side
is facing a facade,
the unknown reality of why,
just how does this,
where are,
what happened.
~
Would like to imagine
a peaceful state of mind,
though everywhere we glance
is a constant reminder.
~
This is what we were
a time of reflection.
‘Can’t you see?’
There is a truth in our
reality,
though oft times we will allow
fantasy
might skew our
perception.
© Scott F Savage 9/2021
His tears are his own,
improbably,
there really isn’t a pattern
except the most obvious
except he is so obvious,
you know the sort of person he is,
predictable,
the sort of guy who defines himself
long before anyone else cares anymore.
He lives alone
in this quiet world of anxiety
always on,
always trying to be on
always his chance to breathe is limited,
actions of his own,
can’t seem to disown
all the fears that raised his demeanor,
the skin on his body always edgy.
He’s trying to survive in his own skin,
yet every chance he gets,
his tears seem to steer
his path.
© Scott F Savage 9/2021
 | 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
"I feel the rush of your love through my entirety and I know in this very moment of my existence this is where I belong" - The Creative Chic
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