Philosophy · Poetry · poetry in motion

The Love Face

The winds were high and strong

the will mere a penny’s worth and oblong

I turned to the doctor who saved love

from dying as the soul was consumed and lying

She with feeble hands held high

the resolve to stay with might

whatever the fraction of love remained

I whispered a halo summer’s song

and she looked with hope and growing

beyond a distance into the rhythm of the night

the night surged and culminated on her pillow

as a prize fight that brought a pence and a day

till the day grew calm and in the mirror I saw

the flying moon as if cut off  from the strings of love

and I fell on to my face on the pavement crying for

a soup van and the paltry food; she was alright and

like a sun of her own very bright!

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