-Dust to Dark-
This roaring tide of great love
the malady of sadness left inside
caught between the hawk and the dove
not knowing in which room we ought to hide.
Silence, overwhelming the moment
time dropping through an open slit
a wound, through which the memories trickle
splash the present, drip by drip,
to fall into a quiet solemnity of passing feeling,
sown together again in this dark retrieving.
The gentle choice, of each great love
the cleansing of the house, proud martin,
to know, what one must dispose of, and keep,
the beat, revivifying hearts in parting.
Making space, in the fracture of that place,
the settling of old fears, the packing of the boxes,
the tearful remnants of all those bygone years
the hounding of the foxes,
swept from off the benches and the tables
the cleansing of those Augean stables.
Hoarded clutter in those treasure chests
guarded with such firm resolve, night and day,
fiery hearts, wept within the beating breasts,
washed from off the surfaces, warily swept away.
The living remnants of all great loves
carefully honoured and wrapped,
with grace, remembrance of the gift thereof,
each diamond kissed and packed.
The curtains are drawn as the light invades,
silence from the dawn ekes between the cracks,
all is saved.
The herald of a brand new day,
is born upon a lark,
the nightingale is packed away,
its song is dust to dark.
© Richard Michael Parker 2012