The Stowing Away Of The Bestowed (love)
Author: Airtime 13
When first the gift of love bestows itself
(for love cannot be freely given) upon one,
it is as if a beam, a shaft, a ray of light, a
pot of gold from that ever unreachable rainbow
is yours forevermore.
Then to try to reason, to use the soul value (logic?)
that delineates humans from the beasts, which
we strive to rise above, to keep, to capture love
fails, as it must (for love cannot be
physically held). Love is metaphysics in
a mental landscape which we may yet discover
involves some chemical change in
the complex human brain.
Sex does not equal Love for it is objective, a smell,
a taste, a feel, and oh what a feeling! But
sex cannot survive enforced separation,
impotence or mastectomies, or various other
jabs at our humanness. Who said life was kind?
(A master prevaricator?)
Love is explicitly implicit, the mind is fully
aware of the state it is in (not Kansas).
Unknown or often unknowable are the endless
permutations mutable love shifts through
before most often stowing away.
Though we think we are,
Captain of our ship, Master of our vessel,
Thorough searching unveils no clues.
Bow to stern, keel to mast, where art thou
love, have you jumped ship? Check the port,
we must bring this errant tar back.
Love can never be lost nor separated,
given nor taken away. Get it? You
either have it or you don't, it will survive
to reign another day, place and heart.
To chase love is to lose sight of love.
To grab love is to watch love slip
through your fingers.
Gone, it seems a physical presence that
hurts, such pain you'll die. Quare Morieris?
Why wilt thou die? There is no wound,
no disease, though there may be a rash
suicide that makes the final statement of
(a loser?), "Take that, you f*ckers!"
Love, though, can be watched and tended, its
tender flame kindled to light up lives as such
they can be alighted. Keep the home fire burning
that love shall not be lost in a deepening darkness.
Constantly scan heart terrain, keep love in sight,
not too close now, don't dim the glittering eye, or
burn out, only bestow.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Kimi (18.104.22.168) -- Sunday, November 16 2008, 07:40 pm|
I love this.
|Cameron (22.214.171.124) -- Saturday, December 24 2016, 01:14 pm|
That's some deep insight there!
Click here to read other Poems by Airtime 13
Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack
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