RSS Feeds

Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Ourselves

I need to be plain,
simple.
I want the black silhouette
of silence in me.
The angular coast.
The single sound of the wind.
Picking in a winter orchard.
That is how I love you best.
How I can hear
what’s being said.

If there are so many millions
of us,
does my heartache
become a million times one?
Does love mean more in tenderness?
You are cherished
for being one of you.
Being remarkable.
Where the world sits down
happy with itself.

Comments are closed.