Soft And Silken Hair

I rest my head upon her ripened breast,
In awe of every tender, taken breath.
Too long consumed by vanity's rapport,
Between the mighty mountains and the moor.
I've left the shady sadness of the lake
Where bitter winds would blow and often make
My soul confront a dark and centered core.

And here I lie, in all humility,
Upon the breast of pale fertility.
So snugly wrapped within her shroud of peace,
Beyond the voices screaming to me - cease.
No boat at Lethe's shore now waits for me,
I've come to join my goddess by the sea
And cover every furrowed sinful crease.

How beautiful her radiance surrounds
The memory of darkness that abounds
In caustic clouds of all my evil days
That ferried every scar from evil ways,
Releasing sullen thunder from my soul,
Constructing all the remnants into whole;
Her lips now level with my ear - she prays:

"Release him from the rumble and the rage
That now invade this sanctuary stage.
Protect his solemn space and tender tears.
Remove this gallant spirit's haunting fears
And take unto your bosom's burning light
His purity of soul to guiding sight;
Console and bring him calmness through the years."

My heart will still this summer-night of rest
When passion for her beauty draws its crest.
She strokes my skin with soft and silken hair,
This lady of redemption lying there.
And soon all gloom and sorrow must take flight,
Now banished to the burn of blue starlight
As my sweet lady lays to rest...despair.