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.

The rainbow tempests have flown

Across Oceans of vast greens and coral blues,

The scarlet dawns have scattered seasoned golds,

Across the morns of every time-zone,

To signal the wind battered white-fleeting clouds

To shuffle across the shoreless azure of the horizon,

As the colourless of space and ether simply endures,

The spectrum of light cascading, the pure energy,

Thrilled in its omnipotence of wave-lengths,

Spilling across the galaxies, painting worlds,

Pulling fiercely into the violet unknown reaches

Of an expanding universe into the black void,

Where diamond suns reveal the interconnection

Of the starry multitudes, bursting across a milky dream.  

Will the maids of antiquity please stand up?

Those who were made to appear beautiful,

As if bred to woo, created to charm

A way to prosperity, the bed an altar,

Of what it means to be feminine?

O’ how all the same roles are repeated yet again,

In the young women striving to be pleasing,

Bartering their bodies with fashion and self-starvation.

Who mourns their daughters who have now have

Become such voluptuous women, and bold,

With looks that make the breath of men race,

For just a half a decade of their shinning youth!

With skin as smooth as ivory, limbs like paradise,

But does the flesh serve love truly, or simply fertility?

How common was her stupid beauty,

That ruled the passions of lesser men,

She used her power like any other tyrant,

Her own charisma betrayed her, her jewels failed her,

How smug were her limbs

Which sought the best of men,

Wooing them to impulsive acts,

In defiance against their better sensibilities,

So impressionable are the sweet mouthed masses,

That will say anything, do anything;

To momentarily belong to such beauty,

For such is the ignorant chemistry

Between the sexes, lost in their primitive roles,

That to attract it seems was her purpose,

Though was she loved, though was she ever loved? 

Some things are very dear to me,

Though I know not all the secrets of this world,

I shall die a happy lover of this Earth,

Whose climes of green and gold prevailed,

An iridescence of the spirit of life bathing me.

Some things are very dear to me,

Like kindness shown often without discrimination,

And rain by the ocean, sunsets at mountaintops,

Through I have not travelled to all the continents,

There is still love and music, nature and history,

These things shall always ring true to my ears,

And my eyes have been blessed to witness it all;

Such being the course of my simple gratitude,

I shall enjoy this creation for all its magnitudes. 

If this be love, may all weary breaths depart,

Since my velvet soul can flower now in peace,

To paint each hour with floral moods and grand designs,

And uplift the stormy angst of personal suffering.

If this be love, then let me sigh with magic finery,

No more shall I grieve the haunting that was my life,

For by the rose of love the private garden is transformed,

This is the season of our high delight, and shared,

It is an honour to attempt this highest goodness with you,

My devotion shall relinquish effort to the shrine,

Of our everyday happiness together, ever making signs,

And imparting the services of small equalities,

Sharing beauty and virtue interchangeable, in our bed.

Trust me, who with the heart’s reciprocity,

Should be loyal and tender amidst all unrequited times,

Since love only shall take this form once,

Then with compassion’s rarest touch,

Do not doubt what my muse intends,

That to free the spirit I was born,

With stately eyes for pleasure’s source,

And the discovery of all that is royal and pure,

Within the human relationship, sentiment and all,

Trust me, whose journeys led to heart’s content,

Where all earthly measures are forgot, in this harmony,

So time enjewled in the sweetest vows,

Could forget her pain in such lasting blessedness.