The Pilgrim

A love poem more deeply felt than any I have written before.

To an idiosyncratic little trapeze artist

You have my heart now as you embark

You have seven years on me and yet

It feels as if we are both at a new beginning.

Setting out.

Turns out the town I loved was the town you hate

And now we both left it

As I too started to sense the staleness of the air.

Sure, it was fine for me to find my feet

As happy summers slunk idly by

But the summer past was empty but for you

And old scenes saw my footsteps washed away.

This morning as I dreamt, I kissed you.

And as I woke, I went on loving you,

As I have these sweet months past.

Let the months grow into years

And all the dreams into the truth

Because you are my haunted haunting pilgrim

And yes, (as daft as it sounds),

Every footstep of yours is a heartbeat of mine.

Finally I understand

What all those silly lovestruck children were going on about.

From my hand you draw this desperate verse;

From my head these wishing dreams;

And from my heart the hoping spark.

Beautiful, brave and newly freed,

Come home soon.

Can  I say more?