Gifted Poem by Dick Holmes

We are all gifted
mimes, handling the objects
of our daily lives
as if they were really there.

A child swings up
into the wild blue yonder,
the swing seat
part of a pantomime.

The apple William Tell
splits with a crossbow bolt —
naught but light shining red
in imagination's rainbow.

When lovers kiss,
it's their fervid hearts
that create their
trembling lips.

For the final act, fire and earth
are the vanishing props,
for we are mimes, smoke signals,
gestures of Love Divine.