"writing poetry, starts in my soul, flows through my heart, up to my head, then it's out of my hands"
Saturday, 3 March 2012
-The Broken Heart Bleeds the Reddest Blood-
-The Broken Heart Bleeds the Reddest Blood-
He said:
'It is a beautiful mystery my love,
you and i, together, are a part of it,
with our hearts connected,
within the great art of it...
Nothing we could ever do,
would ever change a word of it,
for the truth of it... my love,
is that, love, is all of it'.
...
Don't you know that I'm breaking,
coming apart at the seams,
cracking in every one of my dreams,
and as the shards fall to the ground,
your shadow light blisters through the cracks,
bathing me in an eternity of you.
I hate that I love you,
to feel this pain drag me around,
smash me to the ground,
leave me lost where you are found,
and all the while left to wonder,
how you ever got so deep inside my soul,
wound around an endless staircase,
descending into a bottomless hole.
Every day I resign to break free,
as I make a new pledge,
to split apart, to rip out my heart,
to tear away the remnants of this haunting,
and in the moment of my triumph,
you come, with just a word,
and I am lashed to that mast again, unheard,
smashed in a torrent of loves tempest,
all conviction routed,
every direction doubted,
swept into the deep,
left in a heep, of this love...
You are all of me,
and in your soul I drown,
sucked down into the abyss of you,
into the endless soulful deep
of your fathomless blue.
Breathe for me my love, please god! breathe for me.
...
"Wait!"
I heard you say...
or was it I?
It seemed so very far away.
"Wait!... but don't wait for me"
for I am gone, and drowned,
my heart turned out,
spilt into this endless sea...
"Wait!... but don't wait for me,
for the broken heart bleeds the reddest blood".
© Richard Michael Parker 2012
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Adieu le passé, bonjour le présent, et vive l'avenir
Into the clear blue of a twilight sky,
Venus and her slivered new moon,
dance to the suns fading tune,
a swirl of cool iridescence,
twirls amidst the nightingales first trill.
Her Jovian chaperon,
winks through the wisping clouds,
as they play in apricot shrouds
sweeping across pale blue hues,
a divine smile flashing across this heavenly evensong.
'Adieu!... adieu mon cher, adieu'...
A glimpse of shadow
slips between the sheen,
a rhapsody of spheres,
caught within a stream,
eyes that twinkle as the stars appear,
from out the blue, both dark and near.
Painted with light,
upon a phosphorescent screen,
this tableaux of desire,
a simulacrum of a dream;
The mirror of divinity is rarely what it seems.
'Adieu!... adieu mon cher, adieu'...
Adieu le passé,
bonjour le présent,
et vive l'avenir.
© Richard Michael Parker 2012
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