Dare we a moment linger here,
a respite before dawn,
embracing smiles fading fast
before awaking to move on;
Shall we at night retire there,
exploring ‘midst the thoughts,
where dreams provide us joy
that life by day cannot.
“One hope at a time, one step then another…” Best not get lost in dreams though, when reality is 2/3rd of every day.
From afar the sunlight brought
a midnight heart-to-heart its end,
yet even as your figments fade
my longings still persisted here —
The mornings promised quite a mix
between a coffee cup and errands,
but all were shades of grays compared
to the cherished strawberry blonde there.
On a roll this week. Might have found the ideal writing hour I think, even if it’s in a rather inconvenient place of the day…
If days in span are much too long
for what a moment could consist,
and still were hours much beyond
what the wasteful found remiss,
then fleeting minutes can suffice,
or even seconds rapt in bliss,
that a lifespan it would seem
when lost in moments of a kiss.
An unexpected lovey turn as stanza two crystallized, but hey happy writing keeps the mind and heart youthful.
Find me in that future near
where all our pasts forgave;
find me in the present here
yearning for that life to live —
Come meet me in that dream
so sweetly sung of youthful
ere jaded morning, we shall be,
and wake no longer hopeful.
“In dreams you will lose your heartaches; whatever you wish for you keep.” But I was never satisfied with dreams alone…
Is pride of such deserved
that deference we would cede,
and greet our better angels
with a kiss upon the cheek?
Has kindness sparked a scorn
so bitter with forgiving,
that even devils seem sincere
compared to such a living?
If we can’t be virtuous, at least be honest, and with the self if not beyond.
You’ll suffer hours lost up front
for hope of dividends to match,
but investing one-for-ones
yields little more than naught —
Yet praised you’ll be at least,
for motions point to effort,
and lazy are the shy to give
an ounce of futile past inert.
“Strategy without tactics is the slowest path to victory; tactics without strategy is noise before defeat.” And yet it seems I am rewarded in life for being tactical but not strategic…
How precious burns the hope
precarious on the midnight candle,
whose vision of the world is dim,
but dreams of more, unflappable;
And long were nights that passed
whose day brought only sorrow,
yet hope inscribed in paltry light
may yet prevail life’s shadows.
“Wait for it. I’m willing to wait for it.”
If pasts and mysteries light a spark
that keep your nights awoken,
and linger just between your breaths
as you peruse what’s spoken —
The walls of time stood wide and vast,
and history kept the details sparse,
but scattered clues can weave a tale
to keep alight that wonder spark.
At least, that is until you make a blunder and lost 40+ posts. Lesson learned about making backups…
In my corner of a pre-dawn dark,
with scarce a light but stars to guide me,
I walked and wandered for the heart
whose sleepless sought to find you —
So dreamed I did in quiet wake,
that strolling in the night could mend
what neither sunlight, nor a yearn’,
our roads diverged to cross again.
You know what would also be a good idea? Sleeping at night…
I get so used to all-white pages,
pristine and full of possibilities,
yet in their stoic purity,
a blemish could add imagery —
And once so mark, however made,
a word or dot to start at all
would leave a streak, even erased,
a blotch attempt however flawed —
All perfect papers look the same,
but only inked do they have life.
Hollow too are sleepless eyes, yet mine tonight still resist sleep…