Dreams from the Witch-Tower.

The hands of the great clock face in the tower ceased to count time. She heard the whispers of a melody on the breeze; a soft tinkling of wind chimes furled with the slow and sombre notes of piano keys. The grandeur of the room lay only half lost behind the crumbling sandstone and fallen leaves blown in through the roof, from which, bars of dusty sunlight filtered down; illuminating the past. Illuminating what once was. What now is.

A Snapshot of the Artist as a Young Woman

She hides herself in her poetry
within corners of the web
to be read by eyes
strange to her; to

The Marriage of True Minds

Lilac-blossom clouds against a translucent sky, lazily drifting; the passing of time. Sunsets like these seen only once in a lifetime, a glass of something in one hand with your other hand in mine.
Breeze in my hair: a rustling of leaves: the gentle rushing sound of the not-too-distant stream… Dusk wraps around us, and you wrap your arms around me. With half-laden eyes we await the sunrise, when suddenly you look at me and the voices of the night
are drowned in a whispered dream:

“Do you take me—”
“For all that you are. And me?”
“I do.”
“Then so it must be.”

©2020 H. M. Smith, All Rights Reserved.

Epilogue

She keeps the relics of a lost love
in the flower box his roses came in.
Blood-red roses in place of him;

Danger-us.

Collide

He was both darkness and light wrapped up in a sombre smile; sometimes I saw flashes of pain in those honey-brown eyes. I was aware of my own pain when I lay with him at night, but only because his touch stripped it all away; helping me to breathe again. With gliding fingertips and every drawn-out kiss, he caused the ache to subside.

(The moment that we collide
is the moment I know I’m alive.
So take these love notes
and keep them forever safe;
never to forget
our last embrace.)

©2020 H. M. Smith, All Rights Reserved.

---

Next>
in the ‘Love Notes’ collection.

Love Note (II)

With gliding fingertips
and every drawn-out
kiss—your heart
pressed against mine—
how I long to get lost
in those moments of time;
in those nights that you are mine.

©2020 H. M. Smith, All Rights Reserved.

---

Next>
in the ‘Love Notes’ collection.

Hidden Within Me (Is You)

On the train, where I first
learned your name, you
ignited something
of a flame in me for you.
Or on the balcony, wrapping
your jacket around me
to keep away the cold
as you smoked your pipe;

In the Cradle of Creation

Could you hold me tonight,
my love? Because it feels so
right in the middle of the night
I think about when we first met
on the train: the feel of my hand
in yours, and the huskiness
of your voice. There was a
kindess in your eyes, yet
a shyness to your smile.

How can it be that our paths
have criss-crossed again,
and again? Maybe
there is a flame that
burns eternal, deep
in the Cradle of Creation?

With You

With You

You seem to me to have lived
a thousand lives for someone
so young. I imagine each one