When, Her Opulence’s Nears - Poem by Mark Heathcote
At stroke of midnight under, moonlight.
Calm envelops my darkest fears
Gazing tranquil at the starlight
When, her opulence’s nears.
She’s why my hand doesn’t, except
Misfortune, why my soul concedes
There is more under heaven & earth
The eye intercepts without conceits.
So, aware am I of my imperfections
As I take her hand in my heart
So, aware am I of my cold inflections
And the dark sides I must discard.
But I can’t leave her blossom unpicked
Love’s destiny is like polished stone
Beauty cascades over all hardness…
Softening, rocks into soft, fine loam.
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