MAGIC


Magic



she tells me I have magic


she tells me I am the petal of a rose

she tells me I am a stream

she tells me I am the sky

she tells me I have gifts



I have fear


the petal faded

the air stagnant

the stream fouled

the gifts plundered



a heart comes


it brings color

it brings drink

it brings fresh air

it brings hope



but it bleeds


I patch it with the petal

I wash it in the stream

I refresh it with the air

i hold it next to mine


they beat together


ordinary magic



Deborah Bolle        \© 2007




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poetry

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By Deborah Bolle on July 27, 2007 10:49 PM | | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

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This page contains a single entry by Deborah Bolle published on July 27, 2007 10:49 PM.

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