If our love...
let it run in endless line,
from the word,
unto apocalypse resigned,
or if some blessed soul,
or creature divine,
wonder at the beauty of this tale,
let them forge another age,
in which two lovers,
and for a time...
know only the sighs,
carried upon two lips,
no distant than the parting of breath,
to fall into each moistened mouth beset.
Let this love renew,
in bright resplendent hue,
on rocks that no tumult ever broached.
The sweeping path, towards the lunging surf,
and fast, the golden sands do sigh once more,
to greet two lovers,
that in stately times passed bye.
For in that place of giddy mirth,
let two souls of divine birth,
regale the palisades with song,
and climb the winter walls with fiery hearts,
commanding every bird with talons peek,
to cry allowed, in joy,
or never speak.
If our love be a bird
let it be a phoenix.
Bright and golden as the dawn,
shimmering in the firelight,
of a shattered funeral pyre,
ablaze in beauty of the song,
resounding in the fire;
Reborn, from sallow embers,
of a flickering night,
with wings resplendent,
long lived, a thousand years
of rapture in flight,
to shine in dazzling sheen sublime,
a luminescent testament,
to this lovers story,
enshrined within that ancient glory.
In summer months,
let two lovers lighten their load,
in cool caned realms of sweet repose,
recount the tales one to the other,
of winters icy fingers,
amongst the fiery timbers,
until the licking flame ascends,
to burst upon two supple lips,
quenched within those sliding hips,
reforging sword and sheath again.
Yet, if it be a sound,
let it be a silence,
the thread and weave between all things;
Each bird, each breeze,
that sweeps majestically,
between the mountain pass and trees,
suffused in loves great blessed silent ease.
Let each note play upon loves silent strings,
to hold all melody, each harmony,
together in sweet time,
an accord of music divine.
Then, in times departure,
our silent love will be our gain,
for in the silence,
this loving rapture will remain.
© Richard Michael Parker 2011