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Wisps
by
Rusty Broadspear
A pair of
hearts beating
In harmonious rhythm,
With wisps of feelings,
Trailing sailing clouds,
Between foreign skies.
Rejoice the days,
Sweet rest the nights.
Paris maintains her excitement,
Within neon enlightenment.
Artists carrying closed cases,
Unfinished canvasses,
Incomplete beauty.
Sway in darkness,
By pavement cafes,
To the tune of whispered laughter,
To the scent of exotica.
Wisps of feelings
Lace the streets,
Reform,
To chase the darkness.
Barefoot in the desert,
She stands alone.
Gazing at pyramids.
The setting sun is too red,
Mammoth shadows encroach.
Cairo recounts so many tales,
In syrupy tranquil air.
She blends so well,
Has become part of the whole,
Of time.
As wisps of feelings
Wrap ancient stone,
In mummified embrace,
To then escape,
Dash across deserts
Into Egyptian night.
He looks down
At down-filled clouds.
And the coffee swirls
Reflections of a face,
That reflects revolving worlds,
That one day will meet
At the feet of fate..
Never too late
As shiny wing dips,
Trailing wisps of feelings,
Weaving a world wide web.
Connecting, projecting
Powerful images
That feel so true.
Coffee swirls in foreign skies,
To sighs that are felt.
Melting
A pair of beating hearts.
And in Paris
An artist sleeps.
An unfinished canvas
Waits with patience
For a new dawn.
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