His Love Belongs To Everyone Poem by Mark Heathcote

Silence lifts white fraying fogs
That's hidden by deviltry
Isn't he known or unknown?
His woodland inn winters throne.
Here smokeless monologues —
Whisper like a brick chimney.

His love belongs to everyone
No one everyone, but me.
Meadow rolling, Lord, how twee.
Their flowers on lolling stalk.
His love belongs to everyone
His hearths fire inglenook.

His love belongs to everyone
No one everyone, but me.
But one day still somewhat numb,
I'll be that threadbare pine tree.
Evergreen ichor blood flows…
Waiting his soft springs touch.

Through his veins my sludge overmuch
Gives flower, I've not disclosed.
Now's I'm not so grandiose
His love belongs to everyone
No one everyone and me!
Shining stars in a shining sea.