The Arrow and Other Poems by Robert Staniford

A Kiss.

A kiss would make it better

when I was a child;

Every hurt forgot

in loving arms.

Bruised and muddy, open

wounds of running wild;

love, the potion made,

the magic charm.

A kiss, sealed promise;

two, agreeing one,

going on together

through the storms.

Knowing times of rapture,

like children in the sun,

scattering new dreams

into the dawn.

A kiss; stolen, betrayal;

liquid hopes overrun,

those scattered dreams

now tossed into the night.

A price, a moment taken,

so when I look again,

I know the loss;

love slaughtered, turned to spite.

Opening out the letter,

to look, to read the words

that burn upon the pages,

dimming light;

A kiss would make it better,

a touch, warmth now denied;

if I was but a child...

Words

Words, my life, tears in a bottle on the shelf;

Resounding, echo from someone not myself.

Words have hurt me, caused my tears;

Soothing words have dulled my fears.

Words, laughter, strangers pass by me in the street;

Mirror image, demons I don’t really want to meet.

Now I wonder, is it me,

The demon who must bend the knee?

Then words, a mind, caught in battle within.

Words, of hope; comfort as I feel the peace begin;

a better person wins this day,

a better me will walk away,

Because of words, my life, tears in a bottle on the shelf