Thursday, December 29, 2005


I have held a destiny
forged in the smithies
of the heart, written
our love in hammer
and smoke and sinew.
I have bent myself double
with the labor. I have
burnt myself hollow.

So I’ve tempered fate;
so I’ve dreamed a future
dancing on my hearths.
And all the while
you grow like a rose
from the hand of God.

Stephen Brooke ©2005

I should've been in bed but this poem wouldn't let me sleep.

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