Growing up in a rough place, he never thought he would make it. But there he was that day, in this place of all places, with that woman of all women. How gorgeous she looked waiting for him to come and pick her up on her porch.
Whenever she passed by, there was this scent around her. She smelled like a meadow in spring – field flowers, tender earth and moist grass. Everything about her was refreshing.
Souls wielding Time and opportunities Arising from moments Instant flashes Turning wheels
Curves – soft, firm and generous, Core – supple, athletic, reactive, Spirit – warm, free, rebellious, Mind – open, aware, imaginative Whole – unshackled, aspiring, elusive. Untouched – she feels her Youthful body is wasted On lack of others Free, yet secluded – Out of reach from enticing Encounters. Silenced.
Picture a multitude of richly scented pots of dried out flowers. Each an original mix. It downed on me that each human being can be compared to a pot pourri. What a weird statement, you will say.
Part 1 – Him She is sitting by herself, looking up A book in her hands, basking in the sunlight, Watching the lake ripples crash on the shore. All alone. I am watching her.
If we pay attention and watch closely Around us, or if we look back and observe Captures of moments past, They pop up and become evident Interactions, connections, links They are there – ever present, Obvious and exposed staring us In the eye – in the foreground Discreet and hidden – in the background
“People think we are lazy and we cannot shoulder hard work, Nor long, cold hours starring at a moving screen. Clearly they have never planned a coup. I have been sitting by this house for days, Trying to establish a pattern, a routine of some kind,
I am walking down the street, My heart is beating like crazy What is happening to me? I am singing on the pavement Pouring my heart out to the world Breaking the song apart
There are days when I feel like I have all the time in the world. Days when I feel patient, when I have this idea that everything will turn out all right. And there are days like today, when I don’t feel like it is going to be okay at all.
She would be the souvenir of a moment past. Her atoms would be far away, Or long gone, And her charms and petals long withered,
Whoever they were, Whatever they believed, Whatever they told her, She knew She could not get attached.