Out of Step

                                                                           

she comes from a different time

of this I am all but certain

a time of simpler intricate things

of words that are no longer spoken

her memory, her greatest friend

there are libraries within her

stories my mind cannot comprehend

I delight in their mystical nature

she seems out of step in this place sometimes

out of synch with the calendar’s turn

her heart kept locked up inside of those walls

she watches as if through a lens

it’s not for lack of ability

that she moves at a different pace

it could almost be called an impassioned disdain

for the state and nature of things

so often I am swept up in dreams of a time

when we both could have fit in place

two pieces woven of similar thread

yet in contrast they seem to blend

there is something about the passing of years

remembering things come and gone

so few things now hold any weight

to anchor their place in time

in ways she is like a history book

filled with page after page of lore

with stories of how one becomes

yet never being that thing at all

she tells the tales as if she saw them

yet was never truly there

and now she has found herself wanting

to be the character that defines the tale

~ for my muse ~