Saturday, 13 October 2012



sleepless yet less,
caught in this improbable introspection, yet blessed,
plunging into my psyche and thrown upon the waves,
the might of the foments deep, thunders from those graves.
Yet, not a stone is shaken, not a breath removed,
not a lie bespoken, nor a soul reproved.
Grace, to mend the fractured heart,
the roar of that ancient score,
and from the tumult, peace again to start.

The shadow dwelling of each forgotten token,
shaken from this vestige as my heart is awoken,
to find within the constancy of thought and reasons rhyme,
a measure of the peace from some dark protracted line.

but not in hidden realms,
opening these doors to both heaven and hell,
to dwell, in both for a time.
To know the scorn of your tormentors whip,
soothed in the balm of angelic lips.
Fear not the doorways,
nor the passage through the dark,
for in that place,
a beacon light eschews its grasping fingers,
illuminating paths, on which, the penitent soul still lingers.

The hoisted sail, sits headstrong upon the pillow,
relenting in the tide, of the sheeting's luff and billow.
To quell the sea, and calm the rushing wind,
The horror that you flee, in the end you must rescind.

forever humbles the sorrowful face,
forgiven in an instant of loving light,
the comprehending sword that cuts the darkened night.
Let go... and rise without that anchor's chain below,
Let go, and rise into the light,
from out the fearful shadow of the pasts tormented night.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012