Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Poetry, Relationships, Travel, tagged ache, across, Africa, ageless, almost, along, ambition, Arabia, arms, around, candle, chime, clock, constant, countless, cowboy, cry, devotion, difference, dinner, discover, distance, dream, east, end, exchange, familiar, feet, fireplace, fishermen, flex, forge, forget, grand, grandfather, grow, hands, hour, how, image, intimate, journey, laugh, life, lifelong, light, listen, lofty, love, make, make-believe, man, marvelous, Mediterranean, memory, might, move, mystical, north, old, out, pace, poem, poetry, prayer, quiet, reach, recall, rekindle, remembrance, revolution, romance, sailor, Samarkand, sand, shift, signal, silent, simple, slow, sound, south, spring, stand, steady, story, sundown, sunrise, tears, time, tireless, Travel, twelfth, west, whisper, Wild West, wildlife, wind, winter, within, witness, wobble, woman, year, years on July 9, 2010|
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The clock strikes the twelfth hour.
As the familiar sound of wind chimes signals
another year of moving on, slow and steady.
Remembering the images of the man
within the constant, shifting revolutions
of sunrise and sundown in this woman’s life.
Witnessing how lifelong travels have ended,
forging across countless dinnertime of growing old.
Around the fireplace, rekindling romance.
Recalling the stories of the fishermen,
of sailors down the Mediterranean.
Of cowboys in the Wild West
and the wildlife in Africa.
Of the mystical journeys
from the sands of Arabia
to the sands of Samarkand.
Those intimate exchanges of lofty dreams
and grand ambitions traveling marvelous
distances of north going down south.
The eastern spring and the wintry west.
Witnessing how she listened. And almost
forgot the difference, whether it is
the story of this man’s life in the stories.
Or simple make-believe.
Witnessing how she wobbled achingly
at her feet standing up and lighting a candle,
whispering a prayer. Memories became
mighty flexing arms reaching out for the years.
Discovering the man who makes her laugh
and who makes her cry the silent tears.
Witnessing a love that will never grow old.
Those quiet devotion as ageless and tireless,
pacing along with the hands of time.
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