Mark Heathcote Poems

Hewn from the strata of galaxies demure
inured with witchcraft heartbreakingly, pure.
The bride wears her wedding dress like it's haute couture.
Dressed in her heavenly gown made by Channel or Dior.
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Love if only I could love the stone core of your heart
Love you like the vine that splits and climbs a rock face
Love you like a sun orbiting the moon—what art
Tendril dripping over the craters could we I erase.
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They are 'otherworldly creatures'
Maybe they are the gatekeepers
Their eyes are stellar stars of worlds unseen
Unbeknown, so they are mercurial
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I want to be the fire
that ignites and burns free
whatever ills avail me
I don't desire to change.
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As an Imaginary writing challenge
If, I won a hefty 1 million dollars
It wouldn't be enough for me to manage
A rural cottage - would take the coffers.
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Good men would die for a father
good men would die for a king,
good men would die for a mother
good men would die for a queen.
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When my heart is subdued, on the brink of collapse
when my heart is subdued, when we haven't held hands
when my heart is subdued, on the borders of romance
when my heart is subdued, and our lips haven't kissed
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Let only one be your centrepiece-
and the others,
let them brocade your world
swim in your dreams
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Why is it that a ghost keeps his clothes his shackles on?
Is it even when we're dead we're still imprisoned
why is it that a ghost walks through walls isn't free
is it even when we're good or bad, we are all alone?
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