It was a day that cannot be forgotten,
a story that cannot be foretold.
I knew you were coming,
but I didn’t know how it would unfold.
The days were long and slow,
I adjusted to a changing self.
Everyone began to muster around,
knowing that I would help.
The time drew closer,
I realized how nervous I really must be.
The moment arrived and I only did see,
a little tiny replica, a replica of me.
My world stopped for a moment,
to breathe in all that was anew.
Ten fingers, ten toes and big brown eyes,
brought my love all to you.
The same conversation,
tiresome, somewhat irritating.
The room closes slightly,
compressing, not heard.
Impressing on your mind,
overlooked and unrealized.
Playing catch up,
a minute or so, even less.
It is amazing that when we think of love, the first thing that pops into our mind is romance. The romance factor can almost seem more important than the actual meaning.
A person can give themselves a new meaning to life with love. Love is much deeper than romance. It is an unwavering support to your being that is unlike any other.
It is greater than lust, more powerful than infatuation and more settling than romance.
It is a true bond between two people. Sharing the forbidden emotions that stem beyond the surface, scratching it deeply to see what more lies beneath.
Letting go of your fears to the one who understands what it means to be fearful. Sharing your doubts about existence with the one who truly has lost their way at some point.
Feeling safe within the arms of the one who will fight for you. The clear understanding that when you share this information it is evident that it fell upon the right ears, not the selfish ones.
Is this your soulmate? Perhaps you have traveled through the centuries- scouting each other. Each one picking up where the other left off. Possibilities do say that when you finally meet them again you unleash your lifetime of hurt within their arms and prepare to walk down the narrow road together.
Sure, that what is next will make you stronger than individuals but as one.
When the sheet finally dropped from their eyes- they felt lost. The time that had passed only served as a reminder of memories some wished were happier.
This is the crossroad of reality and fantasy. A breach between them and themselves.
It can be easy to sail through life- never really reaching deep inside and trying to make up reasons for why some of the puzzle pieces don’t fit.
Regardless- somewhere down the line- life catches up and a large part of whoever they are is likely a large part of whatever they’ve been avoiding.
It is hard and cold,
the best served dish
your mind will rattle,
at the mere thought
tests lay in the bonds,
paths this has crossed
time is a factor,
it can never fade
heart trumps brain,
today may be better tomorrow,
so long as you let go.
What is its consequence? Waiting, procrastination or stagnation of time.
Does waiting for something longer make its capture a triumph? That almost seems subjective. It is impossible to know that anything is really worth the wait.
What if the trailing of time never manifests into anything- you are left with regret- the real consequence of the lapse of time.
It is often mingling with a call to judge. Whose judgment can be to blame? Only yours can.
Not every regret is a direct result of it, sometimes it’s of circumstance. Though habits of circumstance rarely see anything as a failure of those judging but of fairness.
Where does waiting seep? In everything, the wait consumes it all. To get older, to learn, to be trusted, to gain access, to be loved and wanted. We wait for the perfect presentation- gallantly to grab.
Finally, we look to stop in that moment of time and to be free of this chain. Desperately, before it all begins to fall apart.
Waiting is no longer relevant as the picture becomes less clear. Traveling far enough away that you cease to wait for the result.
Creativity is a source that is strictly derived from life,
finding each day as a sculpture or a mold of a personality behind reactionary experiences.
creations of storms or beautiful streams of consciousness.
Representations of these elated versions bleed from us daily,
from the spoken word, the cloth we bare to the culture we encompass.
Fostering a sense of belonging to which we have arrived,
stemming from enlightenment of ideas long passed
heightened by the surrounding culture left to absorb.
Manufacturing a voice that has come into its own,
graciously awaiting to commandeer our own personal art.