Then A Believer You'll Make Of Even Me Poem by Mark Heathcote

With love, we write on water
And cherish the wind
With love, we are the phantom
Without a voice longing to sing
Without love, the mountains soar
And the sea in a cavern screams
How can you make music without me?
I am your lungs - fill me!
I am your homeward journey
How can you exist without me?
Show me your flesh on fire
I am but a schism you must leap
I am but a small chasm
On the cheap side of your heart
Show me your magnum flows
And runs much deeper than any sea
'Then a believer you'll make of even me'.