My Friend

My Friend

She said, 'My Friend'...
It ebbs and flows.
Be as constant as the tide...
for it is a pleasant place to hide,
on occasion, when you find your spirits sagging,
and yearn for the quiet enclosure of a closeted space,
where music and grace are the constancies found within!
stop a while,
and do not regret the ebbing of that tide,
for even stars fade, when the Sun broaches the dawn;
Yet, their light is echoed in that brilliant day,
do not mourn,
for they resound again in the dusk,
to herald the coming of the night.
Do not fret at the passing of time...
but wait a while,
and see that time rejoined,
for all things that pass,
pass this way again.
It is an eternal recurrence... 'My Friend',
but NOT, of the same.
For nothing that has been so touched,
by the starlight of that place,
ever remains the same,
forever it is changed,
and changed again.
To pass the hours in listless musings,
amongst those subtle ears,
whose hearts do ring through all those constant years;
A tolling bell of communion,
friends one with another...
lending their hearts to all,
as a sun does lend its warmth to a summers day...
stay a while,
and we shall see the night come again,
and we shall play music,
and laugh once more,
'My Friend'.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011

Artwork: Unknown 

False Hope

-False Hope-

Left in a passage of dark deep despair,
no light to illumine the agony there,
crouched in a corner of some foul design,
you ache with some remnant of longing resigned.

These wounds that have bled out your heart, that once loved,
are wickedly opened and deepened, when shoved,
into a box, where your dreams used to be,
residing in emptiness, loves absentee.

Lost in that dark and damp manacled place,
where you sat in your blood that wept down your face,
there was but a fragment, a shred of dim light,
that flickered inside, in the dark of that night.

So you rise, as the light inside See's up ahead,
a crack in the gloom, with a thin wisping thread,
to sow up these wounds, and to make of them scars,
to unlock these self designed prisoners bars.

And all of the time, with a wicked sly grin,
the beast that has hold of your hope from within,
tempts you by stoking that last fading coal,
in the hope it will finally devour your soul.

For it knows, what you don't, in the depths of that place,
that you'll give all you've got to escape from that space,
even in the light of that last dim lit flicker,
it knows it just makes that slope all the bit slicker.

For a glimmer of hope is enough now to kill you,
as the teeth tautly widen around the dark lures woo,
and begin to drip venom in anticipation,
as blindly you wander into that damnation.

The snap of the trap, that now rips through your soul,
as the tocsin erupts from the demonic toll,
is the only dark remnant left in that night,
of a heart finally swallowed by that false hopes fake light.

© Richard Michael Parker 2011