dum vivimus, amemus
Lindsey

I pause and peel back all those years —
a time when we were small;
I see it now, — a placid pool,
time slowed unto a crawl.

I know this moment, know it well —
the time when I met you.
From here it seems a frozen place;
from there one ’mongst a slew.

You sat across me, smiling true;
I shied a wayward glance.
But that was you: bright and beaming,
so keen on taking chance.

I see this, and you fade to black,
just as my visions pass,
then comes back ‘pon an older we;
I see it all in glass.

I watch in dread; you smile at me —
and now I know the truth:
this is the last I’ll see of you,
your time cut short in youth.

Up to that day, you’d faded grey —
a fixture ’mongst the halls —
another face that passed me by,
as tacit as the walls.

And then one day you weren’t there,
a fact found puzzling —
that is until we heard the news,
a school left bumbling.

I saw the world for what it was:
a dreary, mortal mess;
your beaming smile left for good,
now some say Heaven bless’d.

And now I shiver, shaken still —
the sun stole out the sky.
For what can one still take as fact,
when Death comes passing by?

You died that day, a world lov’d girl —
n’er saw the chance to grow.
You took that day a piece from us,
stole by a fateful blow.

And yet I hope it not in vain —
though little of comfort —
the way in which each day may rise,
watch’d o’re by your slumber.

’tis true — I’m far from closest friend,
yet know please, sweetest girl,
the love which you did give in spades
each day from life’s short whirl.

In memoriam Lindsey Taylor Neal
3 January 1997 — 21 February 2013

— Asher Thomas Parker

Victory (Camena XVI.)

Victory is like dancing:
awful quick and blood pumping —
the droning of a heartbeat,
the roar of the crowd within.

I’m feeling ready to burst,
and I love it all the more:
this Sea of Life within.

I’m rocking out on Cloud Nine,
my head caught up all sublime —
such a tidal wave of joy.

I sit a moment longer
then rave after the next fix.

Asher Thomas Parker

Camena XX.

I find a certain sympathy

beneath a crashing wave —

a song which rings out just for me:

a peace silent and grave.

— Asher Thomas Parker

Heaven’s Keys

I used to watch the days go by
and relish their passing —
yet now I’m less than sure in that,
my days liv’d amassing.

I seem to think it better now
to watch the time with ease,
holding it back within my mind —
a sight on Heaven’s keys.

To know and treasure ev’ry day
grants me a special worth,
so that when I have come and gone
I’ll leave this plane in mirth.

— Asher Thomas Parker

Daily Cinquain, 26 Jan. 2014

The way 

your lips touch mine,

so soft and tendersweet,

is all I ever want to feel 

again.

Black Heart (Camena VII.)

Camena VII.
Black Heart

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder,
but what heart is there to grow? I’ve lost mine,
somewhere back home with you: addled, starving,
screaming for a blood flow — black and shrivelled.

Quite honestly, I don’t know where the pain
comes from, or why it is I can still hurt;
I’ve stopped caring about everything else.
I’ve up and stopped eating, breathing, living.

I need the ache to end; I can’t keep up,
and I know that you are the cure, the fix,
and yet I can’t fucking reach you, see you.
I just want the hurt to stop, to go away.

Now I find myself, seemingly worlds apart,
and I hear your voice ring across that wire,
and I listen close, finding dread in change.
You’ve grown; you’ve moved — you aren’t the same, my love.

—Asher Thomas Parker

The River (Camena I)

Camena I.

The River

I watch the stream come pass me by,
resigned to give but ne’er to live;
at least, that’s how it seems to be,
strewn up on bank, cast silent — still.

I raise my voice, let thoughts ring free,
and watch them fall deaf ’neath my feet.
My soul is nothing more than this:
a stilly murmur ’pon a stream.

Perhaps there’s something keen in that;
I’m free to find my own belief
(now watch it die, succumbed to youth) —
free to scream, loud for none to hear.

So soon, they say, my time will come;
I’ll leave this shore and self behind,
welcomed to join in river’s roar:
a voice betwixt many mur’mring.

— Asher Thomas Parker