28 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments
When you make love to me, it’s something so divine
a touch inside, I’ve known silently. I feel but can’t define
and in that silence, I am more than answered
You’ve painted me, a melody, a meadow of delight
the way the wind moves through the fields
an sings, a song of life
where my heart longs for the refrain
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30 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments
A good shower and I packed up for today’s trek. Our first stop was to see if we could check our bags at the train station but the area used for this service had been closed down some time ago. It was suggested that we try a hotel across the way. Typically hotel won’t check in new customer until around noon but usually will accommodate us early arrivals by watching our bags until check in rolls around. We have done this enough times to know to take advantage of this hospitality. (more…)
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31 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments
We both had traveled through Madrid on our way into Portugal but neither one of us had our mind on sightseeing. We had planned on traveling through into Avila and then on to Toledo so we only got off the train to stretch our legs and find ourselves some food. When we first arrived in Toledo we walked around its outer wall. Ann was sporting a t-shirt minus a bra and again my mind began orbiting. (more…)
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31 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments
The morning passed, like strangers on the road, out that same window, I watched the rain roll down, a distorted view
It reminded me, of yesterday’s tears, how the years, have passed away
As if in a single day, I got caught up in the stream, I’ve seemed, to capture the words,
but I can’t remember, the faces, Just traces, of yesterday’s dream
Looking back, I see the reflection of the face, frozen, like those many framed windows of the past
Only a stranger looking back, through the cracks, of myself
A fool, obedient to a vision, from behind the window, watching, a changing world that’s not my own
Only the birds, I hear sing, about such things, how they’ll never be alone
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31 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments
I have grown, like a bird who’s flown, from his own garden, accepted and who listens to my song
in the gardens of others, to me, so much beauty, singing in life, hearing its song
I’ve been walking and wandering, as a wind through the world, time, it has gone away and I’m the one,
who’s following smiles, this world I’m loving today
I wish I could tell, all that I’ve seen, the beauty in the people I’ve meet but every piece, would seem like a dream
if I spent the time, to explain every step, It’s love, really couldn’t say any more
God has been there, showed me the way, his hand has opened each door,
and I’ve been collecting these things, that he’s shown, allowing each step to bring change
now like a feather, no longer the stone, I’m free, as a bird on the range
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