The Teardrops of Love

The Teardrops of Love

How can we catch diamonds that fall from the sky,
how do we paint love if you wont even try.

When the lark sings its first sweet note of dawn,
and the cool dark winds of the nightingales breath
echo into memory,
do those warm rays fall upon the silence,
numbed by the cool death of a soulless night,
or does its song rise in the belly of your love,
bursting in rhapsody upon the bells of epiphany.

How do our stars shoot across this heaven,
or this new born foal take its first faltering steps,
without courage and fire,
stoked in the hearth of emotive desire.

When the trembling comes,
the fearsome quake that subsumes your heart
in the joy and terror of love,
is the moistened bridge awash in the rush,
with each god bless'd tear, each ruddy rosy flush,
or do you sit, silent,
a pocket of dull gray in a panoply of luminescence?

Silence, where no footsteps are heard,
no soft heartbeat, nor trembling word,
is bound to an absence, in a sparse barren place,
without the bright dawn of your loves tender grace.

This dance, the giddy revelry of life and love,
despair, and yes, grief too,
a loss so dark, the endless aching womb
moans in the pitiless absence of you,
is cloistered in the hallowed hallways of light,
in stillness,  it dreams of a new days delight,
where the past is departed from out of the blue,
and a new day arises with a soft mellow hue.
 
How can we catch diamonds that fall from the sky,
how do we see God, if you wont even cry.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011