For the Triumphs of Love-in-Twilight

Isn’t it immortal, how the darkness

Hides the light? As our love grows

Inspite of all our petty reasons to withdraw?

Cold and vague is aging, as warm and moist

As the escape into the comfortable,

The love of the moment, which secures

Our investment in a formidable lack of suffering,

Anxiety has been outlasted, freedom

No longer depends on her broken songs,

Isn’t it predictable, how experience

Reveals our soul’s rightful form?

Pristine and humble, and aching to give –

No longer a need to compete, or be slim,

Tired and fleeting are those little aims,

Fragile is the moment of our ecstasy,

Tender is our sanctuary of hard-fought peace,

Isn’t it immortal, how anxiety has left us

As if we divorced our painful side of self.

~ by pressedintolove on August 22, 2008.