The Blistering Afternoon

In the blistering afternoon of a miracle

He sits in stunned silence, not recognizing his surroundings.

In the shadows are secrets unrevealed,

A mysterious blemish that must exist

Through the lens of the miracle.

How does the seasoned protector, the once hero

Regain the stature of that untarnished visage?

Both the advance and retreat unwelcome.

He withdraws with contemplative agony.

There is no wrinkle in the aging of affection.

It stays steadfast and uncompromising

Teaching its possessor more than ever imagined.

There must be a bridge, a connecting pathway

That exists beyond the scope of knowing.

A touch of magic, a sprinkling of inspiration.

The unwavering, uncompromising breath of love

Leaves its searing imprint

With the promise that the depth of the heart

Will triumph over anger and disappointment

And deliver the resonant perfection of truth

Which is the true and unspoiled miracle.

The evening beckons, it's unhurried whisper

Teases with its wise and seasoned perspective.

It settles, comfortably and sound

With an affectionate smirk and a patient touch

Into its awaiting perch, rocking back and forth,

Revealing itself through a rhythmic and peaceful creak.

There is no knowing, no prediction

Only a steadiness that comes from experience.

In the dusk comes perspective

The darkness of night promises enlightenment.

The magnificent obsession of steadfast altruism

and incorruptible love

In the light of day reveals itself as the truest magic.