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
Last night I wrote her a letter
I figured upon some single word
to hopefully make everything better
still living in a mindset of the absurd.
~
Today I stroke the hour of midnight with a searching
eye for calm, listening … breeze, bright sky, yearning
~
Seems time doesn’t real heal a bleeding heart
unless there might be some universe well apart
I remember back to the days of romantic air
when the two of us well fell inside a lover’s lair
~
we didn’t seem to forecast any blues ahead
only knew we’d proven passion is not dead
Seems time doesn’t really heal a bleeding heart
unless there might be some universe well apart
~
Today I stroke the hour of midnight with a searching
eye for calm, listening … breeze, bright sky, yearning
~
Each time I travel around a corner that seems is new
still they desire, that driving compassion remains strong
I’m wanting only her and nothing more, if she only knew
her beauty is, such elegance does, each moment I long.
~
Did he mention the full moon, wherever we were, still lands.
© Scott F Savage 8/2021
Can you remember when one time we forgot about who we were,
just went with,
just felt like the two of us,
all that minutia which wasn’t important at the time,
suddenly reared its ugly head,
and there we stood
in the quiet rain.
That (part) of our lives we didn’t wish to know
wouldn’t leave,
wouldn’t go away,
wouldn’t let us ever forget,
this time, next time, anytime
a notion of sensuality entered our mind,
we could only speak to the reality,
that piece of ourselves
we might never leave,
we would never leave,
we couldn’t no matter if we might create a fantasy,
that made us want to,
wish to
believe we could,
and yet,
sunrises and sunsets, full moons and the milky way,
we see them every night and day,
the rest of our lives.
Love.
© Scott F Savage 7/2021
I could feel the drops hitting the top of my hat,
it was the hiking hat worn
so many times before when the sun beaten down
now gave it its own worn
look of better days, though today in the rain,
its very meaning, the idea of cover,
its job had been clearly carried out,
well, at least in the rain.
~
I wondered then, as I do tonight about time,
does it really change,
will absence create a fonder nostalgia
that no one can recall the good or bad times,
only the rain,
as it fell down today seems to make a mark,
a damp reminder perhaps of tears.
~
I know that tomorrow will be a sunny morning,
a walk in the radiance of a bright rise,
might do me so good,
shake the aftermath of a downpour
that emotional journey we seem to let ourselves upon
when it is we feel the air begin to change
we know a good rain,
bring us all fresh flowers in the morning.
© Scott F Savage 6/2021
 | a quiet man on Times Like These … |
 | ReBlogging ‘Ho… on How To Return |
 | Yernasia Quorelios on Mindful Collapse |
| ReBlogging ‘Di… on Disagree |
| a quiet man on Times Like These … |
So Dawn Goes Down to day
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A little bit of me, with a little bit of you. A little of the old mixed with the new. A little too loud, a little too shy. A little grounded and a little high. A little bit of sad and a little bit of laugh. A little bit of evrything i carry in my heart. This is my blog that highlights other works, for my poems and musings please follow me on http://myshellecongeries.wordpress.com/
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