No Title

Praise be the moments,
Where time allots a fraction
to rethink old and reflected ideas.
Gifted by a slight sliver
of a light that shivers an instant,
dancing on the walls of past
with new interpretation.
I remember her a new way now.
As if it were replaced,
or if I could see outside the room,
a bird's eye view
of a life I thought I knew.
And it weren't the cost.
I'm a rich fool
spending all I've got
on the longest shot to find.
It is always on my mind.
And I worry now,
if love is nothing like I've known,
or some camouflaged thing
come and gone,
a withering flash
from a crackle of fire
caught glimpsed in the moonlight,
when a mind dances
like ripples of the water.
This condition persists
and it is a part of me.
A lost limb of function;
can't be fiction.
A person is nothing
without some faith to believe.
However the path
it is such beautiful pain.
And the moments of a real exchange;
they are such that drive
this tired, weary spirit on.
Our greatest achievements
are born from our greatest faults.
Perfectly imperfect
Sentient beings.