As an autumn leaf,
I drift along an endless sea
quietly losing hope of finding
that special someone for me
as an un-blossomed flower,
with it's petals held closley against itself,
I shield my feelings inside myself
for, without the root of love,
I shall wither, as if left in a glass,
without water, upon a dusty shelf
Afraid to cry, for if I tremble in pain,
I shall surely fall apart
and who is there to mend
this broken Topaz heart?
Shall I let go of it, this trinket?,
this precious gem of hope?
or dare I cling to it, grasp at it
as if at life's rope?
shall I go on wearing this hope,
painted on as if a work of art?
awaiting the hands to tenderly care for
this bruised Topaz heart?
the loving hands to heal the bruise
and cause the pain to stop,
the gentle fingers to wipe
away, the last crystal-blue teardrop
I await this love, I thirst of it
as water,longing to be made anew
to feel love's healing power
upon this heart of Topaz Blue
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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