That bright isle

That bright isle
up there among the grey
bustling waves of rain to be
 
its smiling beams
hit the green
with a warm kiss of things to be
 
it passes by
and there in its wake
are showers of flowers yet to be
 
that bright isle
up there among the grey
gives me a hope of kissing thee.

If my heart was not a poem

How the thought of your warmth
warms my bones,
though it is
only a dream.

Were it real …

Choral echoes reach deep
as clouds allow the blue to peep
where rain
such cold rain
once ruled the skies.

These choral echoes
float along
as memory
to raise the dead
and bring about the warmth
of your smile.

If my heart was not a poem
written
but a poem touched,
the seed of your life
through this soul’s soil
would blossom.

Were it real …