On Love
Love is like a shadow that comes creeping
Wistfully through the last shreds of night
That cling to the pale morning.
It finds you when you thought you were alone,
When you are vulnerable and exposed,
When the holes and scars that litter your body
Are lit up by its forgiving warmth.
It wraps you in a shimmering blanket,
So soft and warm, comforting and safe,
And cradles you like a babe,
Small and insignificant,
Trusting and needing.
It feeds you evermore,
Long after you feel sated,
Lifetimes past the limitations
That are you.
Love peers within you and knows no judgment.
It sweeps through you with the harsh honesty
Of a thunderous summer storm,
And brushes gently past like a spring breeze
Making love to expectant tree branches,
Carrying life throughout the world
On its breath.
Adventurers boldly seek it out,
Poets and philosophers dare try to describe it,
And yet it waits patiently all around us,
Waiting, waiting to be seen,
To be embraced, to be known.
And when you finally allow it inside you,
When you embrace it as it is,
Carved and shaped just for you,
You suddenly know what it means to be the world:
To be neither sad, nor happy,
But the everything and the nothing.
The lonely dreamer
And the human race.
And though your world has become so much smaller,
And so much less mysterious,
You swear that you have more room in your world
Than you had ever before,
For now you share your love with the world,
And the world gladly shares it with you.
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