A curtain has been drawn apart
The winds, are softly dying
Yet there are petals floating
And leaves, falling down
Tumbling, red into white
In time, the twilight purples
And the candle, burns short
It is then, that I feel it most
The wind brings back
The sweetest scene
I replay it in my mind
The touch that is
Both ache and pain
And the longing that flows
Down the river of time
With heat enough
To set the seven seas aflame
The waves sound out a melody
That sings with passion and fire
It plays once again
On the chords of my heart
And the red sky
Like the pure wine of love
Opens up
To delight in this world
Of perfume and light
Flowers bloom everywhere
And bliss descends upon the night
Our desire still has far to go
Down passion’s blazing path
A white heat
That seems at once
Both ice pure
And elemental

Many of my poems have arrived in my head without warning, a line or a thought, or a perspective on something I see, which I pour out in words, and then later, I read it and have no memory of putting it all together.  Sometimes they are great (well I think so anyway!), other times they need a bit of work, but that’s the fun of the process I think.  There are some repeating themes in there too, words I seem to use a lot, subjects that get a regular airing in various attempts to give voice to feelings or thoughts.  It’s all part of the way writing works for me.  I don’t usually work too hard on ‘fixing’ my drafts before I publish, but I do tidy them up from time to time!