Mystical Rivers
You were in my heart before I knew you
were there, before I recognized you, a seedling
strewn on the forest floor, ready to flourish
with savage abandon, as I watched the dawn
break before mercy.
You are my shelter, covering me in the magic
of your light, bathing me in phosphorescence,
in moonglow, while beckoning the rolling tides,
as they cascade and roar rhythmically
over pleated and rippled sand.
I need the untamed beauty of a love full of ardor,
nourishing each other as we’ve known,
as meant to be, as life surely provides, while
scattered petals are gathered by random hands
of unseen strangers.
The dream isn’t rent by the torrential rains, causing
dams to burst, levees to flood, as mystical rivers
emerge from the overflow. Cherishing you
gives me purpose, the residue tended by those
we have left behind.
Emerging from a long professional career, Stephen Grant is a Toronto writer and poet. He has penchant for Maine Coon cats and art, the latter on which he is currently writing,