They say the language of love is written inside us,
Woven in threads of red and blue.
The red thread runs deep,
Pulsing with fire, surging life from the heart to every corner.
We feels in the warmth of a hand held too long,
In the quickening breath when eyes meet,
In the restless ache of wanting someone you cannot forget.
These are poems I call my Fables...
Will There Be Starlight
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?
And will she find flowers,
or will she find thorns
guarding the petals
of roses unborn?
Will there be moonlight
tonight
while she gathers
seashells
and mussels
and albatross feathers?
