Coming of Age
The poet speaks of love
as an abstract emotion,
as a pure essence,
as a longing of the heart,
as a grasp toward the ineffable,
as a projection of mystery,
as a hope for better days,
as a journey through life’s labyrinthine maze,
as a path through the murky haze,
as a whisper of something whimsical,
as a passion without boundaries,
as an effort to reach a state of perfect peace.
Yes, a poet speaks of love
in this way
until love is finally found,
and then a poet learns
to speak of love
as fact,
as certainty,
as purpose,
as principle,
as absolute truth
born from eternal salvation.
Now
I was not in love
and so I had
no one
to whom
I could write a love song
Now every word that she whispers
sends my heart into a frenzied flutter
Now when I lay my head down to sleep
she is the only angel welcome in my dreams
I can vividly imagine
from thousands of miles
across the sea
the electricity sparked
when her hands
are held in mine
Now when the sun rises in the morning
I know that it is she who creates the shine
Now every star that casts light from the sky
is a divine reflection of her perfect feminine nature
Now I am in love
and so there is
only one woman
to whom
I will ever sing a love song
***
Reblogged this on 17numa and commented:
Thank you to Kelly Fitzharris Coody and Sick Lit Mag for publishing two of my poems recently…
LikeLike
Wonderful, my love… ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderful, my love 💖
LikeLiked by 1 person