Treasure Island

Robert Leary

(New London, Connecticut)

Isaura


Like the petals of a flower
Your smile rifts the air
Meddles abundant in the pollen
That is the breath that lifts despair…
To a heart your hand held
Has reached the cords
That to the harp’s fingers fold
Delicately in my reach
Through your eyes to mine beseech
To lift your pain and fill the
Vacuous shadow that is my heart

Submitted: Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Edited: Tuesday, March 29, 2011

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