What once would be a smile,
is a soft yearn,
a quiet response
while the mind
could wish for play,
might always allow
he would lose himself
if not for love,
if only this passageway,
her desire, a passion,
no longer readily
sworn to the moment,
There are the rains,
a gentle remind.
the drops upon my conscious soul
spoke to a memory,
a time when we would know
the forever could always remain.
In the rains,
I could recall,
when cradled in her arms, my lips touching sweet skin,
soft her gasp,
hers were mine,
… and the rains they fell in line.
I remember knowing this was
where I belonged,
only wishing she did feel the same.
The rains became our silence.
I thought about reason,
for we always seem to want the wonder
accompanies our passions,
our dedicated desire.
I remember as a child with eyes of wonder,
just glancing toward a forest,
wondering the depths, beyond the surface design,
and I knew I might never understand,
until stepping inside, gingerly,
mother nature of course would wish
this humanity be mindful.
I thought about time,
and it continued to pass me by
even if standing still,
I recognize this is where I belong.
In the confusion of a certain philosophy,
we might all know our truths
are meant to embrace love
in respect to a societal suggestion,
lets our hearts unveil the wondrous passion
that exists in a quiet solace,
only to be recognized in the shortest of dreams,
those meant to contain infinite parallels.