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Stephen Rutledge Oct 2017
Believed buried,
A heart estranged from it's beat,

Suddenly revived,
How strange to feel all but meek,

It was the stone I had unturned,
That hid something beautiful I learned,

And to know,
Beneath the surface of the stone that glow,
Was to love you so,

Yet it's love you choose not to know,
And despite a promise,
You must let me go.
Stephen Rutledge Sep 2017
What moments we hope to encase in amber,

Though revisited,
To feel as though we are returning home,

Though nurtured,
The times we were less alone,

Carefully we construe,
All we once ever knew,

Though the minds resin do not hold these moments,
For reconstruction distort preservation,

And memory in the mind,
is only as real as the ideal future
Stephen Rutledge Sep 2017
In the unknown of the night,
Along what path stray from the artificial light,

Vague silhouettes of trees stretch for the sky,
I too cannot help but try,

We reach,

Albeit, no limb touch the spectacle of the stars,
Our admirable gazes bond to the light that meet our skin,

We are touched by the sky,
For even the light of dead stars brush upon us
I have been taking walks along a dark track in the evening.
Stephen Rutledge Sep 2017
The solid wall,

Unscalable in height,
Impenetrable in might,

How that secure wall,
Encase this psyche,

And carefully constructed,
It be excessively rendered,
The masquerade of idealisation,

This wall ultimately conceal,
What torment persist,
Of ageing scars,
The heart still suffers
Stephen Rutledge Aug 2017
Between a blink,
In darkness ever so brief,

Against each eye lid,
A visage rest finely engraved,
A visage of my own,

Though immaculate in high relief,
There was increasing unease,
As though to perceive it,
Was to obscure it,

Could this be,
But a buried impression of me,
Of dwindling memory,

Or, some idealised state,
That I hopefully await,

One thing be certain,
What visage linger,
Between the blink,
Is what I will never understand.
Stephen Rutledge Aug 2017
An old image,
Its me,

Hello me,
From yesterdays the mind refuses to flee,

And oh just look at me,
My eyes,
Appearing cloudless and dazzled at once,
For what a gift did reflect within,

My one beloved,

They be Inert eyes,
Ever so alive, though lifeless,

For this be just an image of me,
A me unable to foresee,

Though able to stare, Questionably,

Hello me,
What happened to me?
Stephen Rutledge May 2017
Savage storms,
To rock what seemed endless sea,

Our small ship,

And how it fought,
Such vicious sway,


Made senseless of direction,
In swirls of dismay,

Yet through storms we travelled,

Over merciful waves,
Past those chaotic clouds,

Onto brighter days.
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