Author's Inkwell

Love is Thus

Posted By: Derek
Date: Saturday, 9 December 2006, at 10:29 a.m.

The Philosopher-Kings who seek only knowledge have it all wrong; for knowledge that has no heart to propel it is an oil tanker steered by a drunk captain in a sea littered with icebergs. Wisdom is not a pursuit, and reason is not a source within itself. Wisdom is but one product of Love’s radiant afterglow, just as sunlight is a radiance of the Sun. Its impression is the mere smoke of love’s fire. Wisdom exists only as means to translate love’s eternity into the limited prism of mattered life and is peculiar to our undreaming world. And you see, our light bulbs are actually filled with fireflies…

Love is a secret wind that blows through our many-draped houses
And it rustles the morning paper in our armchairs.
Love is in every fiber of the despot
Even as his lips announce war,
And just as love suffers alongside the bleeding soldier in his trench,
Love comforts a weeping widow in her autumnal hour.
Love is not swayed by war,
Love is too busy tending the wounded to divvy blame
For love does not see battlegrounds,
Just ungrounded embattled wills.
And love will unwrite swords and tanks
For love holds ink and quill.
Love is a mysterious chipmunk hole that captures the curiosity of children,
Who pretend themselves small enough to enter into it’s secret.
Love is the never-ending smile cradled in every circle.
Love is a gypsy storyteller
Who giggles incessantly at the word “truth”, responding to it
With tall tales about dancing spoons and flying cows.
And love told me that the moon is just bait for fish like you and I.
Love is the rat in the temple,
But love is not the marble.
Love is a drop of dew and the flower it will become;
And still, love is playing peekaboo with you
As you enjoy its perfume and curse its sogginess.
Love is in the twinkling eyes of every sweetheart,
And all hearts are sweet.
So love is thus:
The echo of unfathomable depths, the gravity of unimaginable heights,
Tucked somehow away in tiny lockets around the necks of the many.
To a lone sailboat in the gray jaws of a whirlpooled sea,
Love is the star that promises safe passage.
Love is an impossible journey;
It is the sod of the mountain that a climber clutches,
Collapsing upon the final grassy summit.
Love is a crying mother
Delivering her precious child to the doorstep of The World as an orphan.
And love is your mother and love are the walls of her womb and love
Propels the steps of her
Who presses on bravely in a world that tries to extinguish the flame of her miracle.
And love is the man she awoke as in the day of tomorrow.
Love is the father whose only muscle is the heart and
Love is always his occupation.
And love did not forget the suffering of men
Whose petrified expressions protect an ocean pain that is unseen to all but them.
Love, not fear, is the rabbit’s eyes whose body is limp in the mouth of a coyote.
Love is its sacrifice to another,
And love always asks for consent.
Love is a hero with no homeland who slumbers
Beneath a canopy of trees and greets every stranger as a long lost friend.
Love is all stories within The Story,
And love is a song heard by deaf eyes
And a painting seen by blind ears.
Love is the weeping apology of the Despot as
He crumbles before the knees
of every man, woman, and child he hurt, one by one.
And love will forgive in the end for love is a savant
Whose one genius is unity.
Love is a cherished etching of our naked bodies,
And love is the tender artist whose pencil caresses each curve of every living being with thankyouthankyouthankyou…

Messages In This Thread

• Love is Thus
  Derek -- Saturday, 9 December 2006, at 10:29 a.m.

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