Saturday, 3 September 2011

Love is a Wild and Raging River

My love for you is such
that if you were to ask me to freeze
in the perspective of eternity,
I would bound ahead,
crashing through frozen waves
and golden sun,
because my love knows no bounds.

An idyll must be held up,
thrust up to the gods;
an idyll cannot survive on mere breath –
it needs Ambrosia,
lungs like kilns,
arms strong enough
to cling to the clouds.

My love for you is such
that I cannot say for certain
whether our love is certain:
a good thing must change;
all things die.
Only illusion can sustain
such a feeble thing
and feed it as it clings -
it soaring on the wing.

My love for you is such
that I would stake my sanity
on madness:
I would hedge all my bets
on gladness.
I would delude myself,
give myself away.
I would lose myself
and seek the way.

An idyll must be held up
against all odds;
an idyll can never escape death –
it meets its closure
in the mirror;
it will crumble with grace,
feed the winds of change,
run, as a wild and raging river.

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