Syncopate

 

 

 

 Featured art by Amy Judd. Click title image to visit her studio.

 

 

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she was his refuge
his strength and his brave
his nights and his days
dressed her fragrance
the sweetest perfume
hung in clouds on the grounds
that a lifetime was merely hiatus

 

such intoxicating scent preempted every heartbeat skipped
bereft of the presentiment that silent fears gripped
swiftly outstripped of careworn trepidation
for he knew she would not permit indignation
thus, he made a declaration
heedful not of destination
fearlessly he turned and faced her
lifted crimson veil
embraced her

 

the sands of time slowed
heel and toe they had captured
the ebb and the flow
that of syncopated rapture
it mattered not the fracture that his heart had been subjected to
for she was disinclined towards subjective view
all he had craved was the truth
for sincerity to lend ceremonious proof
that he would be seen even when he receded
that he would be felt even when their exchanges were heated
that she would expel any doubts in his mind
that through death his whole life would define
and a life in decline would find reason for rhyme
all four seasons reprise unconditionally entwined

 

for all time
far, far longer
their bond had grown stronger
not one cycle passed he had partially wronged her
neither had she ever bled the decree
of his territory hers to conquer
in wanderlust they trusted
as they thrust their best foot forth
and altered course the likes of which had been unsung as done and dusted
with stardust in their stride
and ceremonious glide
they redefined the stars and coloured bright the passing skies
made a declaration
heedful not of destination
fearlessly and forward facing
they embraced and braided twine

 

she was his refuge
his strength and his brave
his nights and his days
dressed her fragrance
the sweetest perfume
hung in clouds on the grounds
that a lifetime was merely hiatus
never once to lament
that essentially blessed
as the object of every affection
through the never
they never once severed the ties
that supplied their blind eyes with reflection

 

the sands of time slowed
heel and toe they had captured
the ebb and the flow
that of infinite rapture

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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