The Fish Called Love by A.D. Labuschagne

A.D. Labuschagne | November 30th, 2021 | poetry | No Comments

Poet Bio

Late in the night
In the early morning hours
Before the coming of the light
I lay awake
Painting pictures
On the blank canvas of my ceiling
Dipping my brushes
In the pots of my heart

Wherever I lay my head,
That’s what I called home
Even if like the prophets of old
My blanket was made of stars
And my pillow of stone…

But now I find myself
Laying in bed
Listening to the whispers in my head
Those voices calling me back to you.

I’ve tried for ages
To catch the slippery dream fish of love
And each time I thought it was in reach
It ducked back down into the deep
Never to be found.

But now, laying awake
Late in the night
Watching birds take flight
With simple brush strokes of the mind
Upon my ceiling
I can’t help feeling
That now I have a chance

So, tonight
I will draw a net
To catch that elusive fish
Called love
The one that slips away so easily
And in the morning I will wake
And find you next to me.

Poet Bio

Andre Darius Labuschagne is a pastor, poet and musician from Johannesburg, South Africa.

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