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.