Remember
All we spoke of
And all you shared
Of yourself.
How it warmed me so….
And, as you left me
In that sun-lit meadow,
The whispers
Of all we spilt together
Trailed on behind you.
A lingering impression
Within which
All that was meant to be
Had been realised.
So vivid
And illuminating
In the moment.
This, our one-time bond,
Our passion for life
Fully expressed.
And whatever
This might well
Have cost us,
My love,
Its lingering presence
In our hearts
Soon becomes our refuge.
Soft pillows
Of glorious truth.
What a slender tightrope
It is we tread
Between disgrace
And redemption.
When, such as we are,
And, but for our fear,
We know ourselves
Capable of deeds
Most glorious
And most terrible too.
Best not to dwell
On this though,
Nor on the notion
Of restraint
For that matter!
Our eager spirits
Already dimmed
Too often
By notions
Of just such
A pyrrhic triumph.
Steeped as we are
In tired convention
And the cumulative
Wisdom of the hesitant
That habitually cramp
The moment,
Leaving behind them
Only endless echoes
Of wasteful insignificance.
Rather, for me,
In pivotal moments
Such as this,
I cannot help but smile,
Keeping these,
The best of my hopes
And my dreams, alive.
Whilst, all the while,
The air fills illicitly
With the heady perfume
Of choice.
TO VIEW SCOTT’S CONFERENCE PRESENTATION:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGA7AT-kSUM&t=103s
In between
The doors
To the known
And the unknown,
This where we can
Get lost altogether,
If we don’t take care.
Our spirit
Destined to wither,
If we hesitate
And let this miasma be.
See how
So many planets
Timelessly
Circle their sun,
Such ardent yearning
For fertile valleys
Never once fulfilled!
Truly, in the shadow
Of such doleful majesty,
We are forever young!
And for that blessing
Alone,
We must always
Be looking to take
The unique
And fabulous chances
We’ve been given
Whilst we still can.
By dint of
So many undulations
Of faith, of mettle,
Of resolve
On the surface of this,
Our mortal struggle.
What finely tuned
Definition
There is already
In the story,
The pattern,
The textured travail
Of our lives.
As if encoded
Permanently
On some shiny
Lacquered disc.
Such that
One could imagine
We might well
Be tempted one day
To gather up
Some vast audience
And sing our hearts out.
But why
Should we
Ever need to,
My friend?
When all we love
We have given
Our hearts to…
All we honour
And still hold to be true…
Will still ring out
So loudly,
Long after we’ve gone.
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