Wednesday, 10 August 2016

poem 107

Her naked feet, descend from the horizon line,

and bound about her neck, a pen mightier, than any religious lie. 

For this day of love, knows this will never be enough 

But I seek a truth which stands without any to mistake

And it's there I ask, what's the weight of a lovers kiss

For today a lord of land was reborn, as another monstrous shape,

which just begs forever to an sainted actor to deny his decline 

And this, my gift to Scotland, a bottle of finest wine, 

not knowing this would be the saddest of goodbyes.

For once again I meet a teacher who thought he 

was the history he had just laid upon the line 

There across the table, lovers drown in a dam made for tears

and just in that moment I held your hand and we smiled…

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