A poetic exile

What is there to berate
Life—for: Why equate
It has not any meaning..?
Every sap that’s shelled-out
The husk, longs further, seeding.
“Every breath a water-spout
Leaps into death, pupate.
And is yet, still, dreaming...
Of the wings of perfection”,
Too fulfil life’s passion.
The gift of love’s pre-emption...




Poetry by M Heathcote
Read 502 times
Written on 2012-12-19 at 03:33

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text



Morning Star
A powerful and beautifully written poem, very eloquent.
2012-12-20



You speak my soul into words
and give them wings to soar!
2012-12-19