QUIET SPACES

QUIET SPACES

Heal up my wounds with your blood and bones
And enter me as a lover would, under the velvet canopy of night.

Sing, the golden spoon in your mouth
And come into my quiet spaces with restoration and peace.

Let me know with surety that I will not die alone,
My nude corpse plastered on the face of some backstreet magazine.

Give me a surety that I belong in the world of the other.

Clothed in light, bathed in brilliance,
Loved by the multitudes that swoon and sway palm leaves before me.

Heat my sorrow to boiling, ‘til the raging pain evaporates
In the morning air.

Enter, spirit of the fire that is the future.
Let me believe that something of worth remains.

Enter, spirit of future promise.
Sing, the golden spoon in your mouth.

Enter me as a lover would,
And come into my quiet spaces with restoration and peace.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED