Poems Proclaim
M
Mark Heathcote
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Does the sea revise every wave?
That's crashing violently out of sight.
Does it revaluate every coastal concave?
From there on a stroke of midnight!
Does it returns to us… from whence it came
A god made stoke a word, once erased.
What's left is an island? "Poems proclaim".
These verse our calling maddening curse.
Where, knowingly a seahorse—nods
And a pen line stokes-on in its silence
Much like a funeral cortege it plods-
On in the dark looking for whence-
It came from in your soul in your heart.
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