Snow angels

 

And snow angels secretly

hide amongst the snowflakes,

for you are the starlight that

makes the snow seem dull

in the night. You are blinding bright,

a halo around you, like the moon,

spun in candyfloss light.

But you are also

the grass that grows,

green meadows, carpets to lay on,

covered in cloudy pillows,

under duvets of blue skies.

You are the sunrise,

you are the pot of gold,

that shock surprise

at the end of a rainbow,

and a priceless treasure

that glistens in my eyes,

formed the heart of your soul.

 

And snow angels could sit

in clouds of white,

but you will still

shine twice as bright.

For the fire inside could thaw

even the most frozen lakes.

And you dance, as a ballet

plays in my mind, a symphonic

soundtrack to the hope I have found.

 

And I stand agaze, heart simmering

as its fires blaze, and I watch on amazed

as you smile my way. And I whisper,

please don't wake me if this is a dream.

 

And in snowflakes sonnets

I feel a blizzard of unchained emotions.

I'm no longer frozen, statuesque,

reaching for the stars,

for your light is here at my side.

And if I could ride

every wave of every ocean,

I'd surf the soft gentle song

to the sound of love's

shimmering solo.

As the snow falls and

you whisper me home.

Starstruck eyes

 

Spellbinding stars hold back

storm clouds behind dull eyes,

a thunderstrike against

the pitch-dark iris of night.

Cradled in lover's arms,

closed eyes don't see

the warm cuddle of light.

Just the empty embrace

of a heart kept out of sight.

 

And those eyes cast spells inside,

magic swirls whirlpool storms,

a million worlds, a billion places to land,

and I'm standing arms aloft

in this one

at the same time as

the hand that deals the cards.

Miracle or fate?

 

She draws a heart. Am I the one?

A king or a jack, or just a joker

in a deck of clowns?

Is the queen of hearts listening?

I lay my heart on its knees, as I beg

on the floor for the love beating

inside of me to stop hiding itself away.

 

Is fate a name or a destiny,

a place I lay my hat,

a gateway to chemistry?

Or a getaway from illusion,

the mystic conclusion

that love will break the mirror

that only shows

boredom and disillusion.

 

To finally see with

crystal clarity

that this world is

beautiful,

drop the dirt-stained

glasses that disrespect reality,

drink instead from the beaker of life

and taste its majesty.

 

And those eyes. I'm aghast

I see futures so perfect and vast,

stepping through the looking glass.

I realise the past was but a ripple

in an ocean of calm, one drop of a stone,

in a sea alone, now the world can

return as before, a wave after a storm.

 

Where love holds open its doors

and welcomes us in her hopeful embrace.

Map of life

 

It's a hard-won

fact of this flight,

that the image seen

doesn't contain more than

an ounce of your life.

That it is only a skin suit,

and that the soul

it holds inside is worth

so much more.

 

We can hate this suit,

believe me at times I do,

but it isn't YOU. It is just

the image that the world

is shown, to portray you.

It can't show the intricate,

delicately built memories,

or the fight it has taken

to stand at all, let alone

to stand tall.

 

And though some

of the marks and scars

we hide, share a tiny portion

of the map of our life,

they don't show

the mountains we've climbed

or the rivers we've had to swim

to arrive at this point in time.

 

And yes, it's easy to look and

see that image and think it

paints the whole story,

a watercolour washed down in tears,

an oil that doesn't mix well with its peers.

But my god, beneath that surface

there is a whole wide world roaring.

 

There are so many miracles

that we ignore daily,

the fact we are even here at all.

That our leaf decided to fall

from our familial tree. And that

it fell in this time-span, not one

a forest of time away, in this

universe of possibilities.

 

So yeah, I may not be a picture,

not conventionally. I may not

have the body of a god,

or the face of a model,

I sure as hell won't win any prizes.

But I'm a miracle, as are you.

If you forget what the eye sees,

and listen to the heartbeat,

feel the soul's seas

and the way they rush over you.

So don't look in the mirror and see

the smile hanging half-mast.

Raise it to the sky,

and start living at last.