a poem by Michael Sherrillo
Your name blows across me,
Like a warm gentle wind.
I have been pierced,
You, so like a golden arrow,
Have cut through the exterior persona
Of how I am portrayed.
The falseness, which I surround myself in.
Your pointed shaft has darted though me.
And touched a part of my life, my heart,
Which I was afraid would never be found,
And of which I had begun to doubt existed.
I see you, and I see not a person,
I see an angel, floating above me.
One who has gathered the sun in her lips,
The moon in her eyes,
And the eternal joy of youth in her laugh.
And you sit in the sky, archer of love,
Holding in your hands my fate.
For like a fine musician, you have taken this old
Harp, and from it, beautiful music now floods.
The strings of my heart now play,
The song of your name.
Not because of any skill in the instrument,
For it is just an empty vessel.
But because of you, and all which you are,
You've filled me until I overflow
The feelings, which you evoke, spill out into prose and onto page.
But I flood without worry of ever being empty again.
Not after having met, an angel like you.