The constraints and freedoms of feeling love,
now there is the subject worthy of all the
poetry of the universe, for to love is a skipping
joy and a strange craziness, seething with passion
in the screaming brightness of a warm sunny day.
and then dwelling in a ghost land of dark moons.

To love is to lift out of a numbness and feel
again, and then you drop into the horror of it
taken away, like it was never yours to have,
like a shiny crown given as a joke till the king
comes to collect it and laughs at your pain
and you retreat to your numbness safe again.

Should I then be jealous of all the brave ones
who stare into the burning pit of love and feel
its warmth and see the souls consumed therein
and want to jump, for it is the only course for
those who sense the cold stare of life and want
something like heat to take the shivering away?

 

14/7/2026