Claire Sanders Poems

My friend, I call to you, my heart,

My very being, my all,
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O' wise man sage, pray tell, what do you see?

With eyes as dark as ebony or blackest coals,
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There were days, I recall, where I wished myself away,

Sat upon the stairs, aware of the shouts,
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I tiptoe amidst this magnificence of blue,

A regal carpet stretching far and wide,
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Treat me as your chattle no more,

For tis I alone that owns you,
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They say I am nowt but dust, nay, I am so very alive!

Mere particles of stuck together dirt,
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Dancing, silent, upon salient winding breeze,

Spring sun, warm and mellowing on horizon,
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Textured like diamonds, emeralds and onyx embedded into rugged slate,

Alive, steadily but invisibly growing at immeasurable rate,
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When birds take to the sky, and the northern breeze arrives,

I shall know that soon, very soon my time will come,
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Save me as I fall, clasp my hand, give me breath,

Be there in my wakesome hours till I drift,
...