Mark Heathcote Poems
Two Poems Of Two Line Poems
The still pools reflection, what clarity, within its deepest depths it holds?
Until a trouble mind bestirs, silts of time. Looking for what else unfolds.
In comes morning, hauling death. Don't close your eyes
There's only another fifty years worthless wondering left.
Hewn from the strata of galaxies demure!
Inured with witchcraft; heartbreakingly, pure.
The bride wears her wedding-dress like haute-couture
Dressed in her heavenly gown made by Channel or Dior!
Poised like a vision, sumptuously, dressed and veiled.
She; supernatural swan like sailed…
Stunningly, intoxicating; like a little creature divine!
She takes up her grooms arm whispers thou, shall be mine.