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

by candlelight.

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.