Monday, March 18, 2013

Tracing Tempests





The ragged fringes of the heart are like a battered shore
But oh, the tender treasure cradled where tempests implore
As moment-gems of days gone by render a brooding gleam
To diadems of memory’s indelible requiem
For we can never sever from time’s merciless rampart
The pattern of love’s whispers in the fragments of the heart

The hand of time doles out its share of hellos and good-byes
Meek mourners congregate; somewhere a new-born baby cries
Ah, life and death; none can escape its ordained certainty
Our final breath is but the gate to vast eternity
The feathered brush of finger-tips and lips extend their touch
Within the rush of rising tides and sinking ships and such

Darling, sometimes I hide behind the skin that shapes my face
Where love is strung; silver sequins on echoes I embrace
For utter grief and joy are imbued by a tear's caress
An uncharted alloy of bitter-sweetest tenderness
Evoking in keen, sudden half-breath, a tsunami force
Yet delicate awareness of Time’s ethereal discourse

Time is nothing but moments melding one into the next
The past an unveiled eon of hope’s imminent pretext
For now the tune that spawns our laughter falls into the deep
Of ageless ever-after; unmarked graves where moments sleep
As hearts with ragged fringes bear its onslaught valiantly
A gate of mystic hinges opens and shuts soundlessly

© Janet Martin

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