Treasure Island

Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

Melancholy Wings


Spirit bland as black ink
Am I a victim of my own melancholic wings?
That is? Is I smudged and spreading,
That my darling - won’t work…

Darling all I read is your headlines…
Am I a victim of my own melancholic thinking’s?
That is smudged and spreading,
Across that psychiatrist folded piece of paper.

“O When my heart he asks me
What do you see?
And I say - I answer
I with you - in loves permanence.
He answers me too!

He says you’re the white dove’s effervescence
But was I the one who was dreaming….
He says you’re the white surround
And the in between too me!

“O doctor is I a victim in this love
Just another blank unmarked scored page
Of music that never really made a sound
One you’d want to hide and cover up?

Spirit bland as black ink
With that bullets dull ache
I have a kite’s strings tug of melancholy
Like never before…
Where lightening severs the chord
And I’m left smudged _ and I am gone
A migrating bird up into black skies…

Submitted: Friday, April 19, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 02, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Songs written form a woman’s perspective I can do both but I prefer to do it that way.

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