He Was There


HE WAS THERE
by Jezreel Madsa

His shadow stood
an inch at face
feeling the mood
the breath of her flesh

He watched her knelt
as pallid tulips wilt
all her angst and sobs
life and death-- in her
HE FELT.

She was a broken pipe
of yesterday's dirge
an ash of the burnin'
bridge--
of fate's hard-hearted
promises. 

Yet her beam and pain
were the strokes of his pen
the shadow poet
her beholder and friend. . .

How he wrote the stars
upon her sulky sable scars
Turned her barren glee
a glorious summer day! 

He drew the breath
of his lines
down from very lung
of her soul.
He was her unseen poet. 

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