Love is, what is love?

[I’ve been trying to get this written, and still if falters from the flow. But perhaps in posting it I can simply let it go. Returning in the morning to see with new eyes – I do hope you enjoy nonetheless]

love is faulty
love is dirty gritty safe
love is wild and wise
it is full and empty
at the very same time
love is lonely
love is deep
love is sinking into
the arms of yourself
when no one else will keep
you
love is weary
it is intense
and after you feel it
you wish you could feel it again
it is a feather and a barter’s stone
a castaway without a row
a mountain top covered snow
when all the world is melting
it is the warmth of the sun
blossoms first of spring
summer’s only son
and then the chill of
winter when you didn’t mean
all those hurtful spoken ugly things
love is darkness and it is peace
it is duty and somewhere
in-between
the sheets of your imagination
lingering in the places
you forgot to touch
it is the peace of mind you never had
it is the road map you left
behind when you were six
teen and tween and older
It is the pace of ages
an old man’s hands grasping life
when all of life is spent
love
and you know
every one says they’ve seen it
they point it out on subways
driveways, coffee shops and corners
on the cover of every day
they say it is in the places we
least expect
in the places we forget to fix
But then everyone says they’ve forgotten
to hold on tight enough
or maybe not tight enough
and I have to wonder
if love is real at all
I mean is it real at all
perhaps it is smoke on a clear day
light when you can’t find your way
the night sky poked through
with holes of hope
or the one that got away
Perhaps it is the shadow behind you
keeping pace with every wrong
or maybe it is just the melody
you can’t quite remember
but you hum
anyway
maybe love is wet
water in your hands
and the only way you know
it was there was
the castle built in sand
no
Love is rain falling on a summer morn
it is raging like an Autumns storm
it is everything we cannot see
and still it seems to follow me
in the eyes of children
in the speech of every day
and then again
maybe love is simply in
the words we never say
love

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4 thoughts on “Love is, what is love?”

    1. Thank you so much. You know I finally put this one to paper last night and when I got to the end, I still felt like I was not hitting where I wanted to. Perhaps that is just the nature of the emotion – even poets can’t quite get it. 🙂 But close enough is maybe perfect. 🙂 Thank you for stopping by and reading. It means a great deal.

    1. Sorry it took me so long to reply. I was busy with life outside of buttons (aka computer) 😉 Thank you for your kind words… I really just tried to think of every way in which experience it. That seemed to help define it. 🙂

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