Only love remains

Only love remains

When that fire flows through my soul,
surging through the gates,
burning away this endless longing,
it is beauty that remains beyond the pain.
The promise of springs lush new growth,
brings hope to Winters soul.
I wish only to give of that beauty,
free in form and flow.
To be beautiful in your eyes,
is the envy of my heart.
To watch you gasp as i rise,
and to know that all i have done,
all i have won,
was for the beauty in your sight and soul.
The trials, the scars,
the battles of yearnings endless years,
brought before your temple,
and laid before the alter of your love.
If i could take the ugliness,
that remains in this wretched heart,
transform it, raise loves standard,
and ring the bells of beauty,
i would surely do so.
For to burn it out,
and from the ashes,
grow such a rose of this love,
that every captive eye would weep,
in remembrance and admission,
is my hearts true calling.
Yet those thorns cut deep,
and still have not withered, nor broken.
The blood still seeps upon the stem.
Yet, i will not tire, nor fold resigned,
nor rescind, from this desire in my heart.
For beauty wants nothing,
but to give of itself,
and in the giving,
find its reflection returned.
You are my fire, my love,
and in your flame,
only love remains.

 © Richard Michael Parker 2010

Winter Sun

 Winter Sun

As morning breaks,
shattering the dreams in this lonely place,
and your warm delicate hands,
slip beneath the covers,
moistened fingertips,
sliding over my soul, your skin;
It is I who feels each tender stroke,
the tremor within.
As your body opens to the memory of me,
entering a suckling reminiscence,
licking at the peeks,
and slips over the fullness of our love,
the fire that enters you, enters me.
When you walk in that distant place,
along the narrow paths of memory retraced,
your feet tread softly upon my heart,
and sink, slowly into me.
A wanderlust of bare feet,
soft pads pacing an endless retreat.
When that ache of longing stirs,
in the womb of our warmth,
it is i who stirs, within you,
yet in absent silence,
I am Winters cold sun,
a light without fire,
shining warmth on no one,
but you.

 © Richard Michael Parker 2010



Artwork by Leonid Afremov