“Everything and Sometimes Nothing: An experiment of voice”
Love is the essence of living.
Defining love cannot be tamed.
The heart is wild, and desire devours sensibility when the heart gives way.
Yet, is fleeting and prone to wane.
Surreal is how the culture sees, love without form, and selfishly derived.
How can one know real love?
Love can be known best, not for its passion or its drive, but for its work.
Being known.
Being loved.
Being understood.
Yet those passions, small and great, feed life unto life.
One lives and dies, and lives again in the throes of what love seems to be; to pretend.
Living comes with passions.
Love can be passionate.
Yet, the essence of living, the doing of life, in the good and bad, is driven by love. So, if life is the outgo, love is its source.
It has been said that poetry is the language of experience, yet I have never heard a poem of love state that life is found in giving to and for another without something in return.
Love directs itself often by the pain it creates, the cost that it manages to incur, and the loneliness that often embraces it.
Experiencing this dichotomy of love’s embrace, the hugs and horrors, without the eyes to truly know it, breaks us, takes us to pieces – never again whole.
What fondness we search for, time and again if only we’d known that the other side of love, the painful side, was also a friend.
Love works through. It sees the end. It sees the damage and sees the mend.
Not being poetic, for love poems are a fool’s errand, but the ways to know each other, giving in the end, find true love, a home, a friend.
Is it clear? To love… as life… No.
That’s part of the promise. It is blind and true. It’s sobriety for fools.
Fools rush in, yet stumble and fall, the love that is true, sends above every fall.
Enjambment aside, love is truly revealed and best understood in giving and doing, over the feeling and receiving of life.
Forget not that love requires another.
While self-love is vital, it does not meet the need or finer points of a loving relationship. And while reciprocation is desirous, it is not necessary.
Love can stand on its own, in one direction.
The pallet of the lover’s mind and heart paint life’s stories in a different light,
Shining from culture
Shining from tradition
Shining from a journey, a note, a brief whisper…
Love shines in our dreams and shouts from our hands, our deeds, our feet
As we give, we love,
and outlive ourselves
And when all is done, love remains. It never fails.
I know a love like this. It speaks softly to my soul.
I know a love like this. It gives and seeks not to control.
I know a love like this. The world cannot taste or see.
I know a love like this. It bids me live, laugh, and be.
DIGRESS
As we ponder love, we must consider that our thoughts are ablaze with fantasy and dreams fed to us by our digestion of this world. We learn by seeing and expecting that what we feel is evidence of truth. Yet, when it comes to love, it is best known for what we do.
It’s been said that irony is wasted on the stupid.
For me
It is enough to be that way
Except when it comes to love
I am stupid
Staying stupid
And wise just the same.