I want to be that man who takes those chances - poem 6 (abroad, at sea)
The distant horizon lends perspective.
Fountains, graffitti, harsh platzes and soft strabes.
The cackling of ladies who liquid lunch mingled with the
men who fancy themselves gentle and the wee men
who fancy the dancing and the drink.
The well of light in your eyes illuminates from Belfast to Berlin.
Spares me from the dull spark at both ends.
You are a slow burn.
A dragonfly candle lighting the years ahead, fearful and flitting.
If I could catch you in some filmy, shivering cage I could have you.
From the folds of your shoulders to the gentle sea echo of your calm heart.
My heart melts you at the edges.
Blurs the thin lines in my eyes.
Soft corners mix and float through memory
Like the spires that scrape the sky,
fading as they grasp for God.
The pump may have split but the source still pours forth.
I want to be that man who takes those chances.
To fight for the peace in my soul even if you are the foe.
I won't promise you the earth, but an oasis where we forget the clutter of our lives and drink the spring water from that broken well.