Tuesday, 23 February 2016
-The Willow's Song-
I heard the wind chimes call,
your tender breath blowing through the willow;
How soft the moon,
the elegant sweep of your hands
crushed beneath my heart and the pillow.
Was it only yesterday we sat alone?
And turned the fated rocks,
every tortured stone,
tilled from out the sodden peat
the mangled scar'd fray
of every sunken beat?
And turning... still,
the silence and the warmth of every crook,
pressed into the nook of my soul,
your emerald heart
glowing in the still night of your yearning.
How fickle this spell
that breaks upon the dawns first ray.
How low the moon,
her weary sunken brow borne far away,
caught between the rapture, and the day.
I heard the wind chimes call;
And all that frightened woe,
will not wash the sound away.
© Richard Michael Parker 2016
Artwork: 'Hope' by Milenka Delic
Posted by RMP at 02:25