No bed of roses for to sleep

No bed of roses for to sleep

The velvet clover days

enchantment have waned ,

milk and honey dried

where the silence echoes

spurned throes

of wintertide

Cold and lonely

daybreak ,

there is no longer

bed of roses

for to lay upon

petaled amazing

grace

Dawn's fog clears

its multihued shades

of monotone grey

yet ,

the weather

has no affect

on the dolor

of yesterday's love ,

a changing season

grown cold

The icebound river

flows not

unto the sea’s

frigid tideways ,

barren estuaries

The bitter east wind

won’t blow away

this benumbing ,

forsaken loneliness ,

beyond the fallow

winter wasteland ;

purge your season's

haunting memory ,

footprints bereft traces

hopelessly lead me on

        Sing you a little prayer  . . .

bestow a frozen river

to skate away on ,

back to a sea of humanity

helplessly adrift

       whence you came  . . .

Harlon Rivers ..... ©January 26th , 2014

Walk On... the fear of wearing another's shoes...

Sometimes life drops us in the throes of disappointment when we throw caution to the wind , only to discover what you imagined you had learned in a similar past lesson , actually turns out you have not learned a thing . . . it seems there is not that much that changes, perhaps we just repeat . . . 

Some days . . . I wonder what it would be like to be able to look the other way?

The look of the sturdy shoes

not unlike many others

at first glance .

Well cared for mahogany leather,
fastened russet hued laces ,
well-trodden tawny toned soles
an appearance of a savored comfort  .

Enshrouding  leather  wombs ,
wholesome conforming contour
for to carry that weight ;

soles that have seen

many season's circle ,

wistful thresholds crossed ,

that first step in the journey

coursing a thousand miles .

The countless crossroads passed ,

long and winding miles navigated

over challenging unknown terrain .

Past now’s pondered these days ,

rapt in a moment of speechless silence ,

lost in thought ,   . . . presence

musing the stillness of continuum .

If a searching sole were to walk a mile

in these well-worn shoes ?
. . . could thy soles bear'st        

the ache of the pang 

of the sharp rock's attrition 

between well calloused flesh

and ,

within the season'd soul ?

January 9th, 2014 . . . © Harlon Rivers

A fog that seemed to hover ...

There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly

over the perceived salience of his musings

It was as if there were a veiled mystique
that left hopeful understanding ,
                            ambiguously obscured

His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale ,
like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,
drowning acumen ;

albeit unmistakably crystal clear allusions ,
rhapsody in his mind's eye

             Illusive accord ,
             beclouded by seeming stigmas
             borne of the flesh ;
             delicately sensitive nuances ,
             fragile misunderstood imperfections ,
             bespoken utterance weighed

In the hush of pensive repose ,
his flow of soul streamed forth from within ;
bequeathed as if darkness
was magnetically drawn towards light ,
purging muted understanding ---

         Assuredly seeking all questions with verve,
         accepting , that all answers sought
         are not meant to be understood

A realization of those who wish to speak but are mute;   the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved,  befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat ,   understanding a circle is vulnerable , only makes it stronger,

         hence ,
               it had been written
               in countless misunderstood ways 

Knowing he resists his inner-voice ,
a fear of that which remains indelibly writ ,
tattooed on introspective walls
far removed from the glow of light ,
where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;

                heart speak , deft words avowed 

                in enigmatic tongues

               “souls prevailing tides ebb and                                                     flow”
                 from unseen depths ,
                deep within inner realms

A spirit of soul once steeped with his heart’s intone :

“Spell words that bind together passing strangers .  Assemble thoughts that fuse those whom often walk alone.  Append the goodwill of poetry, bonding individual hearts and minds.  Assemble letters to bespeak sincerely, a hope of enkindling some”

and yet, he will write it again and again

            …words grasped by thoughts
              drawn in to the light
              searching for other adept words ;
              written yet another way ,
              unfolding with a relentless                       inexhaustibility
              of an unstoppable awakening ...

               Dawn imbues new days                              bright radiance

               he will write it again and again

           ... finding another way to be  set free ...

1. 3. 2014 ...© Harlon Rivers

Stanza in italics is from an earlier poem called 

*Spell Words that Bind Together Passing Strangers*

http://whisperingmoonbeams.blogspot.com/2013/09/spell-words-that-bind-together-passing.html