A slow evening walk by the riverside,
gentle streams of memories floating by,
like forgotten wooden stumps drifting alone,
occasionally halted but free to flow.
Moments traveling on trains of dreams,
in the company of hopes through tunnels dark,
twisting and turning on tracks destined,
alone but not quite lonely signs.
What is longing, if not our stories,
entwined in old forgotten day dreams,
of love reached and love lost,
of hopes fulfilled and hopes derailed.
Longings are my musings of imaginary worlds,
where lovely hearts unbreak without words,
and I write along...I write along!