The Writing on My Wall: Bed-Stuy Edition
The not so recent past
offers up a sober vision of love
while the antiquity that captured our minds sits idly by,
yet the obscured forms of the past open up
into a sheltered view of the present
and the stoic dancer continues to jump for joy
to the silent beat.
A wild summer day makes no sense
The quiet tears become the
curbs of suburbia
as the two merge as they approach the distant sunset.
But it is a new dawn.
And optimism erupts forth
even when its smoldering ashes disturb the gallant swan
and flip the peaceful tropical paradise,
creating in its place chaos.
What seems like an unfathomable entity
stooping to conquer from a far
twists in on itself,
appearing to be a voluntary dissection
of the self on closer viewing.
And in the mottled light
on a flickering street corner,
when the spirits call out alluringly
the tension breaks
simply because it is the best of ohm,
and impossible dream of love,
like a flood whisking away the doubts
and leaving in its stead
a hope for tomorrow
when the two become stronger
and more resolute
by adding another one to the mix,
resulting in a triffecta
of delight and harmony.