The Hearts Quill

 

 

            I can write with a classical slant,

Expressing with the medium of words all descriptions of

Love written so many times before,

But critics would grin,

Readers would hash through painfully,

And I myself would declare this be nothing

More than an antiquated rant,

            Yet, here I am,

Thinking of you yet again – and no

Matter how much I try pen the depths

Of my emotions,

            I find the biro too cheap to write

Every treasured thought of you –

I keep nestled in my heart.

 

            A quill though,

With the elegance of who you are,

Is more deserved for its honesty and faith

As it dips within the inkwell to pen -

Of how I feel.

 

            This World;-

Brutal with all we hold in fear,

Strikes every ounce of fragility dead

Upon its attitude of war!

But this elegance with which I write

Is the heart I know you bare within your Soul,

It is the knowingness of everything you treasure

When you look upon our child,

            It is the you, you keep outside

Of view, where those who seek the skinning

Of a ladies wealth, will never find your substance,

Never find the courage that you bare to walk the

Earth, while all around the carnage tells a different

            Story where loves forgotten in the cause.

 

            This elegant Quill,

                                    That writes

Within the paradox of a ward

Designed as keep safe – mental states;

Pens  my tears for the woman that you are,

            And holding the quill with the gentlest

Of touch, I myself; I’m keeping safe your heart,

And praying soon a Dove will bring you home,

Where once again I whisper whilst

Shedding tears of joy,

                                    I love you.

 

 

Dedicated to My Wife Nomalungelo

Michael J Waite 17^th May 2011.