Saturday 14 December 2013

A Quiet River
















-A Quiet River-

Could it be any deeper.
This slow eminence of my heart,
weaving between the fractured scars,
a soulful melody that rings the chiming bell,
the shadows released;
Your soft skin gently lain upon my breast,
a heartbeat easing within.
I felt the sinking feeling again,
crossed swords aching in a memory,
and still your skin above me.
The cooing dove that beckons,
'come out of your cave',
'come out into the sun my heart'.
Struck by the moon, a dampened space,
where only heartache has left it's fingerprints.
Learning to trust again can be the hardest lesson of all.
And still your softness surrounds me,
and I feel the flood of this slow love,
a quiet river, sipping at the banks of my heart.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013



Friday 13 December 2013

A River Deep





















-A River Deep-

Our love is like a river deep,
it flows from off the highest peeks,
frozen in the ice of winters chill breath.

At times we wonder where the warmth has gone,
the summer sun, suckled amidst a warm kiss,
vanishes in the mists, a silky dew of loss and remiss,
leaving only the memory of each naked breast,
teased between soft fingertips,
lain upon the frigid climbs to rest.

We doubt the fire, the passion of summers past,
in these days of coddled hibernation,
Yet, natures ways arouse even in the coldest season.

The thaw of springs first melt,
the frozen heart, felt, beneath the rapids tilt,
the chaos and the roar,
the thrusting hilt released upon the risen Tor.

All doubt consumed in the rolling hills of chaos,
a flood from off the mountain top.
We need only wait, with faith and patience,
a kinder fate, for minds locked in icy anticipation.

The river runs, a foments might,
amidst the rocks and scraggy boulders,
this love, one year older.

Widening out into summers, lark sweet meadows,
the somnolence and crush of sated flesh,
two souls reclined on sunlit bowers, no shadows,
compete with dew dropped lips, in heat, enmeshed.
The moistened fingers dipped in waters sweet.

Fear not the frozen hour,
Know only that nature has her seasons,
her reasons for the silent moment.
The quiet too is a balance of divinity.
An Angels silent wings,
brushed, across the surface of things.

And all too soon again we plunge,
rush, revel in the waters crush,
even the wide shallows are embraced,
a quiescent grace, sucked into the air,
to shower down upon the mountain peaks,
the gathering drifts, cuddled snowflakes,
to rest again, and sleep beneath emotive cliffs.

This ice and glory, the fire and the frigid flame,
are but natures endless cycles, the seasons change,
but the stories the same.

Our love is like a mountain thaw,
the river runs deep,
in timeless circles, evermore,
one love, with you, complete.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013