To Love

This is for Stormie.  I’m sorry I haven’t called you lately, and I’m sure you’d say it’s because I’m so busy….and I am.  But that’s no excuse.  There has been time enough for a phone call.  I don’t know why I don’t.  I suppose I’ve been spending all my free time with Kate…well, almost all of it.  But I promise I’ll call you soon.  I don’t know where that leaves me as a person….whether I’m the guy who eventually remembers his duties and friends….anyway…enough over-explanation. 

Just a short poem I decided to write:

To love upon a pedestal,

Placed soft with hands of soul,

High away from the base

Where thing grow old.  They fall apart

Like porcelain, pieces, fragments, shards,

But not on high.  Not love upon it’s pillow.

To love whose first kiss is everlasting,

A taste that stays through thousands,

Never dwindling, distilling, diluting,

Remaining and aging like wine.

To love whose memories of first days

Are the same as memories of now and future,

Fresh, exciting, a spark…but less unsure,

More strong, more faithful, more mindful…

More thankful.

To love whose face is indistinct,

Whose form has no size to deny perfection,

Whose eyes are any, every color,

Whose lips taste like universal sweetness.

To a fragile love, that never breaks,

Because it is cared for purposely…consciously…

Because it is known as a real love that

Can only flourish with hands of soul.

To love upon a pedestal.

To love that hammer blows from the base

Do not shake it — and never do the carer’s try

To shake it.  The carer’s know….

They know better.  They know that love is thinking.

That the heart is a hammer that beats out time,

That strikes against soul, that strikes against thought,

That they are warring around the base.

And love upon a pedestal is held up by hands of soul,

Placed on pillows of  thought and consciousness…

While hearts grow old.

To hearts: wither, wane, go away.  Leave love alone.

To soul: hold tighter, try harder, touch with haunting caresses

The scars, the sores, the wounds, the nerves that knot.

To thought: remember, remind, relive thankfulness.

To love: what can one say?

To love upon a pedestal,

To words that do not alter worlds,

But simply make a moment nicer….softer…caressed

Like light touches from hands of soul.

High away from the base where things grow old.