He stood inside a memory,
glanced around to notice,
the world he believed,
the love he knew,
could no longer feel the
sweet breeze of a natural
speaks only to those that might ever
have the opportunity ‘
to feel truth.
He knew he did, sitting
looking out windows,
feeling the pain that is a loss
that confirms he really did …
Listen to the rhythm of my dream,
you standing near,
I can feel your heart beating,
like a song I might want to dance …
To the eyes standing around,
I’m normally discreet,
without a sound, a tear.
Do we all when in a somber reflection,
feel the energy of our love,
do we yearn together,
in this universal stream of security.
I once wound my life around hope,
only to discover my insanity
was driving me further beyond,
any matter of suggestive morality.
Yet, today when inside reflective peace,
I’ve no regret the love I’m asked release.
When first I sat down in my morning wonder,
I think about place, and reason why,
glance to a man-made water flow in blue sky,
a forest green fills the world far beyond eye.
It is immediate always she can become my
central focus on a beautiful morning in July.
I can easily recall a time I might cry,
yet for now, sweet muse, does mind wander.
I took a picture as a way to describe this
silent peace, music sheltering the natural wave
of city traffic blends a natural green vision,
of Nature’s wonder in yet man-made design.
His search a quiet state of mind, savor the breeze
For in glance I realize why in sky I cry with ease.
I do ponder the many faces,
oh so many hours of time,
lost on the need to recognize,
a desire to know more,
for the moment,
these eyes, maybe a smile,
certainly the extent of a hot summer day,
coffee, laptop and a little music,
and am I a part of today’s society?
Have I met the standard of approval,
a person may suggest to themselves in private,
while whisking away their latte,
perhaps a chi tea, or the coffee of the day.
We’re all here
imagining only that which we are,
in the manner of a moment capable
of grasping, while all around us,
the life of others seems to replicate the same.
At least the coffee is fresh,
beyond the ideals turned stale.
We might just sit here every day,
same chair, same glance through windows,
perhaps never to be noticed again,
at least so the mind seems to say.
There’s a rain steady,
keeping indoors the traveler
whom might be seeking the wood,
may stroll along the coast,
skipping rocks, switching thoughts,
contemplating the beauty around them,
the coffee shop,
holds promise to the conversations
around that though similar, seem different,
contain stories all the same,
their worlds are always different,
in the context of their moments,
until we can catch each other’s eyes.
We wonder about the people next door,
a table nearby our own private world,
did they speak of it,
were they aware,
was there a time in their lives when everything,
seemed similar, possible, simple,
perhaps it is true,
they say it often enough to never forget,
we’re all the same,
we haven’t any lead on the element of change
the human condition might experience the same,
euphoric wonder built upon manifest tragedy.
I was sitting along with my company,
my world against hers,
together we were watching our own world,
responding to the elements in a unique fashion,
yet still, very still, almost
in a sort of decopaged setting,
to be measured in someone else’s eyes,
for they are the judge of this life,
we are simply the portrait.
A stillness in the air,
while we wait the rains,
they might part to give allowance
to nature’s Grace in the wooded freedom
of a dense forest,
away from all wander of deception.
While I stood inside the sidewalk cafe,
I watched the people around me,
create lives of envy,
to balance those of misfortune,
whose measure relied upon me,
or my own eyes, or their’s or someone
with similar passion.
Yet in all of our sightings,
there seems only one reality.
Imagine if the world could understand
A woe as troubling in its demand
As the will of man when caught in the grind
Of a wandering mind, lost in remind.
Gather steam and feel quiet urgency
His heart suspends, ask certain clemency.
For one short moment, serendipity
Steps forward cries a surreal pity.
Glance around the room, today strangers will
Know there is true love by apparent shrill.
For though we call it inevitable
Still as her sweet heart shreds we feel able.
Oh to feel her soft caress, distant eyes.
Bring bodies close, let me shadow your cries.
Inside this place with so many conversations,
in lies, in testimony, perhaps a confessional,
the voices are quiet on a lonely Friday evening
when a listener might wonder if alone is real,
wishing for the banter,
the loud grinding noise of an expressive machine,
delights the aromatic nature of each possessor.
Tonight he waits with patience,
allows trepidation to filter into his state of mind,
the ever distant grains of sand that swept together
give a certain barrister nightmares,
the man alone in the coffee shop on Friday night,
only imagines her walking through the door to break the silence,
when she does,
he wonders if she might,
would she share the moment,
the victory of silence,
with some canned music overhead,
a surreal notion while the moon paints yards
across the city,
a Friday night,
when she does appear, he will, he might,
a tear of joy,
a balance to the helpless plight,