Edward Alan Bartholomew

To Feel It Pound

Edward Alan Bartholomew

I hold my heart when thunder claps,
I hold it when the courier raps
Upon my door—to feel the beat
It often hides—it drums so sweet
And then subsides to tender taps.

My heart is shy when only maps
Can dare expound what hungry gaps
Consume the ground between our feet.
I hold my heart

And tear the envelope that wraps
The lifeblood printed on your scraps
And feed my veins like summer heat
Is supped by rains. Until we meet
At last again when storms collapse,
I hold my heart.

Words

Edward Alan Bartholomew

Words

Hand

Edward Alan Bartholomew

Hand

Reach

Edward Alan Bartholomew

Reach

Self

Edward Alan Bartholomew

Self