Love Is A Journey Love is a pilgrimage. Love is a pledge to The journey. Love is Love of the journey. Love falters when one does Not commit, commit To keep on course and Do the work required. Immediate or Effortless is not love. Love is a final Choice, not a default. You may know it is Ahead and begin The trek but not know What the voyage will hold. Can you find the track, Can you stay the course? When you falter can you Find the way to love? Look for a beacon To guide you, shining From my hard working Heart to show the way.
This weeks Weekly Writing Challenge asks us to write a poem so here is one I dashed off quickly.
Writing poetry, the right words in the right order, takes all my skill and strife with language and theme. I slowly grind out a draft and play and play till from the chaos art emerges with the muses gift.
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo I Acheron’s waters wash me Till Lethe slakes my thirst. Eris breaks my mind And the Maniae have moved in. I am old with wandering And cannot keep you safe. I go to dance in a place apart where even the old are fair. I am not even an attendant lord, no Rosencrantz or Guildenstern, but just a rude mechanical to dig a grave or play a wall. This golden apple is not mine, It passed to you awhile. Keep it safe and close to you Till time and times are done. II Now it lies in your hands and here we are, At this moment where the dancer is and the dance. The falcon in his gyre makes his turn through the past, the passing and the still to come. Mind not mind, but that which is not mind, Desiccation of the world of order, Evacuation of the world of truth, Inoperancy of the world of mind. Hamlet’s question holds my mind while At my back cold blasts I feel. I wish to strive, to seek, to find and Not to yield. The centre will hold, For there you are, my golden light.
Published with (huge) apologies to W.B. Yeats and T.S. Eliot. I have torn and mangled and misquoted but they both inspire.
Like all my attempts at anything but non-fiction prose I am still not entirely happy with this but I post it nonetheless. It’s been three weeks ruminating and writing so I feel it’s now or never.
[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
BY e e cummings