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The wild island


Photo: Marisa Franks

The thunder-love is running through my heart -
deep are the beats that sweep beneath my skin.
Is love itself alive, down deep within?
Oh, will its beating tear my soul apart?
Terrible tremors rend me when we part,
and put my lone emotions in a spin;
my spirit ever felt itself your twin -
nothing can succour me, if you depart.
Didn't you know, when first you took my love,
no dam can stem the passions that I feel,
or cold decisions rule my aching soul?
If you were made of clay by hands above,
wouldn't you think to give, and not to steal
some corner of my heart, but take the whole?

Wild as an island tossed in winter's waves
so still I stand, to cup a living flame -
in solitude to keep my heart still warm.
I will abide here, lonely in the storm,
until some other one of passion's slaves
will wake from sleep to shatter all my shame,
and take with me one sole and only form.


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